


Monstrous Magic Marks

by hells_half_acre



Series: Demented'verse [13]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2017-10-20
Packaged: 2018-12-04 02:49:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 76,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11545935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hells_half_acre/pseuds/hells_half_acre
Summary: As Sam becomes increasingly desperate to save Dean from the Mark of Cain, their friends decide it's time to step in and lend a hand - whether the Winchesters like it or not.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi Folks! Well, this is it - this will be the final installment of the Demented'verse.... of course, I reserve the right to change my mind later. ;)
> 
> An important thing to keep in mind: the British Men of Letters do not exist in this universe. There is only the Men of Letters that was attacked and decimated by Abaddon in the 1950s - of which Sam and Dean (and an as of yet not introduced Eileen Leahy) are the only known remaining legacies.
> 
> Also, special thanks to my beta reader, Bex!
> 
> THEN: Kevin lives in the UK now with Teddy Lupin and his friend Nate. Gadreel and Charlie are both still alive, because I saved them in the last story too. :)
> 
> NOW: ....

Hermione closed her compact mirror and took a deep breath.

There were several points about the conversation she’d just had with Sam Winchester that caused her grave concern. She hadn’t, however, discussed them right away with Sam. Instead, she had used her Quick Quotes Quill to make notes, while she did her best to keep her composure and remain calm - prodding Sam for more information in a friendly intellectual manner. Sam had answered all her questions gratefully and by the time Hermione ended the call, she’d been assured that she retained his trust and friendship.

Now, she was faced with the list:

_Troubling Things Said by Sam_

  1. _“I know Harry said he wouldn’t help us anymore…”_
  2. _“I found this book - uh, the Book of the Damned - and it has a spell to remove the Mark.”_
  3. _“...I’ve found the Codex - it was made by a witch named...uh, Nadya. Only it’s in code too…”_
  4. _“..calling in the smartest people I know - I got Charlie, she’s a hacker. And this witch named Rowena.”_
  5. _“I got her chained up, don’t worry. We have a deal that if she does the spell, I won’t kill her.”_
  6. _“I figured I’d get the bad kind of witch to do it - that way you guys wouldn’t get your hands dirty.”_
  7. _“I can’t risk moving the book. There were these crazy people tracking it before. Uh… the Stynes? Anyway…”_



Hermione read the list over. Harry had, of course, told Hermione all about his last trip to the US - and she had heard even more secondhand, when Ginny needed someone to whom to vent her frustrations about her foolish husband nearly getting himself killed. They knew all about the Mark of Cain and of Dean’s disappearance after his supposed death. And once Dean had returned, he had called Harry and apologized for the trouble he had caused, and asked Harry to pass his apologies onto Nate Lewin for holding a knife to his throat.

They knew, of course, that Dean still had the Mark, but the last Harry had spoken with the Winchesters, they had both been optimistic that they would find a solution.

The Book of the Damned was, in Hermione’s opinion, not a good solution.

Hermione took a deep breath and looked back down at Troubling Thing #1.

“Well then, that decides it,” Hermione said aloud to herself. Sam wasn’t expecting help from Harry. He had called Hermione, not Harry. It was, therefore, for her to decide what the best course of action was - and Harry, Sam, and everyone involved would just have to thank her later.

First order of business was to cancel all her meetings for the day. Second order of business was to call Kevin Tran. It was time he stepped into his new role at the Ministry of Magic.

*

“... and that is all the information that he has given me,” Hermione finished. “As you can see, intervention is required immediately. I’m calling in the alert as soon as I’m finished speaking with you, and from then on, we will go through official channels. You can expect to be called into the Ministry within the next hour. I’m sorry that I can’t give you more time, but we must act before the situation changes.”

“Right, of course,” Kevin nodded numbly, trying not to stare too slack jawed at Hermione’s disembodied head in the fireplace.

“Kevin,” Hermione said. “I know it’s a lot - but we talked about there being circumstances where you might need to negotiate on behalf-”

“Right, yes, I mean, we did,” Kevin agreed. Negotiate on behalf of the Men of Letters - that was the reason he was able to stay in Britain legally. It was the reason that he was granted access to the Wizarding World. Up until now, it had been a title only, it had meant nothing. This event would change that.

“Kevin-”

“Tell them I called in the alert,” Kevin interrupted. If Hermione called it in, it would be like she caught them out in something - which she had, but only because Sam hadn’t frickin’ told Kevin that he was dabbling in goddamn dark magic.

Hermione smiled. “I was just about to suggest that.”

“Thanks, Hermione,” Kevin said.

He watched Hermione disappear from the fire, then he turned back to Teddy and Nate, who had been eating breakfast blurry eyed, but now seemed alert and concerned.

“Merlin’s balls, Kevin,” Teddy exclaimed.

“Fuck, fuck, what am I going to do?” Kevin asked frantically. “Oh god. Oh god!”

“You’ll need a suit and shoes,” Nate said, springing up from the table. “You can’t go to the MInistry in a jumper and trainers.”

“I don’t have a suit!” Kevin panicked.

“We do,” Teddy replied, giving a nod to Nate, who immediately ran out of the room.

Kevin was still panicking. He’d need to bring his notes - the angel tablet notes. He’d been working to translate them. Even though he didn’t have the tablet anymore, he still had the translation that he had written out in that stupid long-dead language. He’d manage to translate some of it, thanks to the wizarding world resources, but it had taken him months to even find the section about the Mark, and the information was sparse and mostly unhelpful. It wasn’t any sort of information that would help him negotiate-

“Kevin, look at me,” Teddy ordered. Kevin stopped pacing and looked at him, at a complete loss as to how to proceed.

“You’re the first Asian-American President of the United States of America,” Teddy announced, firmly. “You can do this.”

“I’m the… President?”

Teddy nodded. “You are - only America is a Bunker in Kansas, and it’s citizens are the Winchesters.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Kevin replied.

“No, it isn’t - listen, when you were young, you knew you could do that job - that was your dream, right? Nothing has changed, Kevin. You are still capable of leading an entire country.” Teddy reiterated.

“I’m the President,” Kevin nodded. “The Winchesters are the citizens.”

“They voted for you to represent them,” Teddy encouraged.

And they had, Kevin thought. They had done that.

Nate came back into the kitchen holding a suit, throwing it towards Teddy and then leaving again. With a wave of Teddy’s wand, there was a strong breeze and a small whirlwind of cloth that swarmed Kevin - he was suddenly naked, and then suddenly redressed, and then Teddy was in front of him whispering charms, and he could feel the suit conform to his body in response.

“What- how-”

“Shapeshifter, Kevin,” Teddy explained. “I have to be really good at fixing clothes to match different body shapes.”

Nate came back into the kitchen carrying a full length mirror, which he placed in front of Kevin with a flourish once Teddy stepped away.

“What do you think?” Teddy asked. Kevin looked in the mirror and stared. He’d worn suits before, of course, but not since high school - it had been years. Years of being covered in dirt and blood and stale coffee, on the run from his previous life, or hiding out in that underground bunker. He looked into the mirror and saw an adult looking back at him, in the finest tailored suit that Kevin had ever seen.

“I’m the President,” Kevin whispered to his reflection.

There was a hoot from the window, and all three boys turned to see a Ministry Owl on the perch waiting. Teddy turned and opened the casement, but the owl evaded Teddy and flew towards Kevin, landing on the counter in front of him and dropping a small roll of parchment. It flew out the window again as soon as Kevin had picked up the note, not even waiting for treats.

 _**Kevin Solo,** _  
_**Please Direct Floo to Ministry of Magic, Meeting Room Six.** _  
_**Nine O’Clock.** _  
_**\- The Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Ministry of Magic** _

Kevin glanced at the clock.

“I’ve got ten minutes,” Kevin stated. “I’ll need my notes and a briefcase.”

“Ay ay, Captain,” Nate said, and then disappeared out of the kitchen once more.

“I have to get to the lab,” Teddy said, picking up his coffee cup and eyeing the contents. “But let me know if you need anything, alright?”

“Alright,” Kevin nodded, watching Teddy chug the remnants of his cup and then shove another piece of toast in his mouth.

Nate re-entered the kitchen then, carrying Kevin’s notes in one hand and a briefcase in the other.

“I thought I’d let you organize them, so you know where everything is,” Nate announced, laying everything out on the table, before turning to Teddy. “You off then, Puppy?”

“Yeah, I’ll probably be late as it is, the lift takes forever.” Teddy answered. “I’ll see both of you later - have a good day off, mate. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. Kevin - knock ‘em dead, yeah?”

“Thanks, yeah,” Kevin nodded, sorting quickly through his papers and sliding them into the pockets of the briefcase in some semblance of order. He then came to a sheet of paper with a list of questions on it, and he realized that he still needed to make a call before he went to the meeting.

He heard the fireplace flare to life as Teddy threw in some floo powder and whisked himself off to the research branch of St. Mungo’s.

Nate sat back down at the table, while Kevin bowed over his notes and closed his eyes.

“Gadreel,” Kevin called, then remembered what Teddy and Nate had told him about Gadreel’s probation terms, and he added. “And Hannah.” Across the table, Nate sucked in a breath. “Hannah and Gadreel - It’s Kevin Tran. I am praying to Gadreel because I am told that he was there near the beginning of all things - that he was once powerful and trusted by God. I need to know about the Mark Lucifer gave Cain, and whether Gadreel might know more about it than Castiel or even Metatron. If he does not, there is no need to answer. If he does, I request that he come to the pedestrian crossing at Abbey Road in London and wait there for me. I will watch for him and meet him when I am able. Amen.”

Kevin opened his eyes to see Nate gaping at him.

“Could you-” Kevin started, apologetically, but then Nate seemed to give himself a shake and interrupted.

“I’ll go to the shed and keep an eye on the webcam,” Nate concluded for him. “It’s my day off, I was just going to play video games anyway, I can play while I wait.”

“Thanks, Nate.”

The clock struck nine.

“Ready?” Nate asked, as Kevin closed the briefcase and walked over to the fireplace.

“As I’ll ever be,” Kevin replied, and lifted the crystal pendant from the mantel piece, tucking it into his inside pocket.

“You’ll be brilliant, I know it,” Nate smiled.

Kevin picked up a handful of floo powder and tossed it into the fireplace, and watched the flames turn green.

“Of course I will be,” Kevin replied, giving Nate his best smile. “I’m Kevin Freakin’ Solo.”

*

Harry didn’t know what was going on - a sensation that he disliked immensely. All he knew was that not even a minute after he stepped into the Ministry, an urgent memo found him - declaring that Kevin Solo, of the Men of Letters, had called in a high alert. Harry had just seen Kevin two days ago at dinner, and his biggest news was that he had enrolled in linguistics classes at a local university.

Not only that, but they had, so far, attempted to keep Kevin away from the Ministry of Magic. The ministry knew that Kevin was in London, but all paperwork had been done through correspondence, rather than in person. It was a way to cloak Kevin in legitimacy - a secretive persona for a secretive muggle society. In reality, Harry feared that Kevin’s political or diplomatic situation would be questioned if it was revealed that he was a boy barely out of his teens.

There was no time now to call Grimmauld place and question what was happening - there was no time to talk to Kevin about how he should present himself or what to expect from the meeting. Harry found himself slightly hurt and disappointed that Teddy, at the very least, hadn’t given him any warning.

He was the last of the wizards to arrive. Hermione gave him a nod, and Harry knew right away that she was well aware of what was going on. It set him at ease, though at the same time he felt even more hurt that she might have kept something from him to the point where she was not surprised at all, and he was caught completely flat-footed.

Harry sat himself down in the free seat at the table. Across from Hermione, who was there as Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Harry was present as Head of the Aurors, a lower branch of the same Department. There was also Christopher Gallows, an Unspeakable, who Harry knew to be the Head of the Department of Mysteries. He was a lanky older man with pale skin and foreboding eyebrows, though he had a kind smile, when he chose to show it. Ava Baumann, a Persian-German woman with a sharp jawline and piercing eyes, was there from the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Across the far wall was a long mirror that did not reflect the room, but rather showed the interior of another meeting room in Boston - where it was quite clearly VERY early in the morning, and the Head of the American Department of Magical Law Enforcement blinked blurrily at them while clutching a coffee cup, beside him, the Head of the American Auror Department looked much the same. Harry couldn’t remember his first name, only ever having referred to him as Brighton, as Phil had. He signed his correspondence with the initials J. E. B., so Harry had taken to calling him Jeb Brighton, though he’d never do so to his face.

Harry turned his glance to Hermione, giving her a wide-eyed glare - trying to communicate that whatever it was she knew - it seemed to be shoving Kevin directly into the fire, rather than easing him into his role slowly, as Harry had planned. Hermione rolled her eyes, which Harry understood as meaning that it had been a whole year, and Harry’s version of a slow introduction was getting ridiculous.

It helped, of course, that Harry and Hermione had had this argument before.

“Anyone know what this about?” Harry asked the room.

“The Muggle will tell us in - 10 seconds by my watch - if he knows what’s good for ‘im,” Brighton grumbled from the mirror.

Hermione kept silent, but then, so did everyone else. Harry got out his parchment and quill, so that his portion of the table looked like everyone else’s. Just after the clock clicked over to 9am, the fireplace in the corner roared to life, and someone came hurdling out of it.

Kevin tumbled out of the fireplace in a manner that would have been ungraceful for a wizard, yet, Kevin managed to turn it into a forward roll that looked purposeful, all without losing hold of his briefcase. He rose gracefully to his feet and, without breaking stride, walked to the front of the room.

“Thank you for coming on such short notice, everyone,” Kevin addressed them, his voice was even, confident, and betraying absolutely no nervousness. He was dressed in a fine suit, tailored perfectly, and despite the journey in the floo, his hair looked artfully tousled rather than a mess. Harry darted a quick glance to Hermione, who looked both proud and smug, and Harry knew he had lost the argument.

“For those who have yet to meet me, allow me to introduce myself - my name is Kevin Solo, and I’m a representative for the Men of Letters,” Kevin continued, Then he nodded toward the mirror. “My apologies for the hour, gentlemen.”

Kevin didn’t sit down, instead he stood at the head of the room, commanding everyone’s attention, while he opened his briefcase and removed a file folder, the Men of Letters insignia prominent on the cover. Once the folder was opened, and Kevin had a chance to look at the first page, he glanced back up at them all.

“A little over one year ago, one of our members came to possess the Mark of Cain,” Kevin began. “As an organization, we have devoted a considerable amount of time to finding either a cure, or a way to mitigate its effects. We have, so far, been unsuccessful.”

“It is the oldest curse,” Gallows stated. Kevin simply nodded and continued.

“During our official investigations, the Men of Letters uncovered the Book of the Damned,” Kevin explained. Gallows’ eyes widened, and everyone shifted in their seats. If Kevin hadn’t had their attention before, he now had it tenfold. “Once in our possession though, we found our agents pursued by members of the Styne family - who claimed family rights to the book.”

Harry straightened at this. It had been a long while since the Styne family had been in Europe, but they were still the topic of at least one case study during Auror training. In the mirror, Brighton waved a hand at his quill and it began furiously writing in front of him.

“By that point, we had determined that the book was… well, both unreadable, and also that it lived up to its name - unlikely to help, more likely to harm,” Kevin explained, tripping over his words for the first time. “In order to… avoid further bloodshed, we attempted to destroy the book-”

“It cannot be done,” Gallows interrupted.

“We know this now, but at the time, our agent made it appear successful - this brings me to the reason that I sounded the alert and called you here today.”

“You mean that all _that_ wasn’t the reason?” Brighton said from the mirror, leaning forward in agitation. “You tell me the Book of the Damned is in your possession, and the Stynes have come out of the woodwork, and there is more?!”

“The Book is no longer in our possession,” Kevin said simply. “This morning, it was brought to our attention that one of our members - the agent that faked the destruction of the book - has been working outside our organization in an attempt to find a cure - as the situation has grown more desperate, his standards for what constitutes a viable solution have lowered.”

Harry had to hand it to Kevin, he chose his words carefully - making it sound as though the Men of Letters was a vast society, rather than just three people and an angel.

“Along with the Book, he has also found a Codex - made by a witch named Nadya - that is said to be the key to reading the Book of the Damned,” Kevin continued. “And he has recruited a witch named Rowena.”

“Rowena,” Harry found himself saying. “You can’t possibly mean-”

“Yes,” Kevin nodded at Harry. “That Rowena.”

“So you know the location of both a book of dark magic, and a wanted fugitive,” Ava Bauman spoke up for the first time. “Why do I get the feeling that this is not a simple meeting to turn over the evidence and let us go collect this criminal and these dangerous artifacts?”

Kevin took a deep breath in. “Because I need something in return.”

“You can’t be serious,” the other American spoke up. “This isn’t a negotiation, boy-”

“Unfortunately, it is,” Kevin replied. “While the Men of Letters does not approve of our agent’s action, the fact remains that the situation with the Mark of Cain has indeed become desperate - and it IS time for us to take the unprecedented step of asking for help outside of our own organization. This is why I’ve come to you - in exchange for information that will allow you to apprehend the criminal Rowena, and recover and secure the Book of the Damned, I ask for your help in breaking the curse of the Mark.”

“It can’t be done,” the American blustered.

“Well, not with that attitude,” Kevin quipped.

Harry surprised himself with a laugh, something he didn’t think possible given the overwhelming feeling that his stomach had turned to lead.

“If there is indeed a cure in the Book of the Damned,” Gallows started. “It would no doubt be a horrible solution - one that should not be attempted.”  
“That is what we concluded,” Kevin replied. “And why I’m asking you to find an alternative solution.”

“As Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, it is I who has the authority to negotiate in these matters,” Hermione finally spoke up. “You offer us Rowena and the Book of the Damned - what of Nadya’s codex?”

Kevin nodded. “We would keep it. It’s not that we don’t trust you - but it has been decided that the two things should remain separated, otherwise, someone might break the code and use the Book.”

“As your rogue agent has done?” Ava asked.

Kevin shook his head. “The codex itself is in code. This is how we discovered our agents actions - in his efforts to break the code, he attempted to recruit some of our codebreakers - one of whom alerted us to the situation. The reason for the emergency alert is because… so as to not spook him into hiding, we have allowed our top codebreaker to help him. She is very good at what she does, and it is only a matter of time before she will be successful.”

Harry glanced at Hermione, wondering. Kevin gave away the gender of their codebreaker, but as far as Harry knew, there had never been female Men of Letters, let alone any currently. He found himself disconcerted that there was a new player on the pitch, and he had absolutely no idea who she was.

“And the Stynes, what of them?” Brighton asked.

“So far they haven’t resurfaced, but I’m guessing they’ll be back eventually,” Kevin replied. “If they are of interest to you, we can turn over all information we have on them - but we can also deal with them ourselves if we need to.”

Brighton harrumphed. Harry could commiserate. Bringing down a dark magic family like the Stynes would be quite the legacy for an Auror.

“And if we cannot break the curse?” Hermione asked.

Kevin nodded, and there was a moment of silence. Harry held his breath for it, because - with a sinking feeling, he realized he knew the answer already. When Kevin spoke again, his voice was steady, but softer than it had been before.

“If you cannot break it, we ask that you help us find a way to… secure him. He cannot be killed at this point - and so he would have to be… permanently imprisoned. We… currently do not have the knowledge or facilities to… to do that ourselves.” It was quite obvious, Harry thought, that what Kevin meant was that none of them - he, or Sam, or Castiel - would be emotionally able to permanently imprison Dean.

“I see,” Hermione nodded. She looked to Gallows then. Harry had come into contact with him many times in his career, and he knew that what Gallows loved the most was a challenge - something he had never seen before. Gallows was already jotting down notes and nodding to himself - he would accept the task on behalf of his department, his nod to Hermione was perfunctory.

Hermione looked to Harry then, for possibly the first time since Kevin had arrived. She had known the whole time, Harry knew - and he realized that Kevin had told him exactly why - Sam was reaching out to codebreakers. He had recruited whoever the top-codebreaker Kevin referred to was, but when he contacted Hermione, Hermione had instead sounded the alarm.

“Rowena’s wanted in Europe,” Harry answered Hermione’s unspoken question. “But I take it she’s currently in America, and that’s why our colleagues from across the pond have attended this meeting.”

“Yes,” Kevin said. “Kansas.”

Harry glanced at Kevin sharply.

“Don’t worry,” Kevin answered. “It’s only a partially warded location.”

“Once the book is outside the wards, the Stynes will be able to track it,” Brighton interjected. “We could use it to draw them out.”

“That’s up to you,” Kevin shrugged.

“Ava?” Hermione asked. Harry had nearly forgot that Ava was in the room, she had been so quiet.

“The consequences of inaction are far greater than those of action,” Ava answered. “Furthermore, the Men of Letters are not usually so… forthcoming. Mr. Solo coming to us in their time of need is an encouraging sign of a positive change. If the Ministry were to withhold aid, it could damage our fledging new relations - one which I would prefer to cultivate to greater cooperation and understanding.”

Hermione nodded. “On behalf of the British Ministry of Magic, I accept your terms, Mr. Solo,” she said to Kevin. Then she turned to the mirror. “Richard?”

Which, Harry realized, was the other American’s name.

“Kansas…. I’ll contact the relevant officials in the Plains Territory, they’ll want at least one of their own men on the ground, but it’ll be Brighton’s operation,” Richard replied, still gruff, but not nearly as combative as Harry had feared he was going to be.

“I’d like to work with Phil,” Harry added.

“Of course you would,” Brighton groused, but there was a smile on his face.

“Then it’s settled,” Hermione replied.

“You have my thanks,” Kevin replied. “I look forward to working with you. Once we leave this meeting room, I will supply Ms. Granger-Weasley with Rowena’s last known coordinates, she can disseminate the information to all concerned parties. I only ask that no harm comes to our agents.

“Mr. Gallows, if you would like to call a meeting within your department to address the task at hand, I would be happy to attend and supply you with the information we have gathered about the curse so far. Please just send me a meeting request once you’ve pulled everyone together. If anyone has any further questions, I can be reached by owl.”

With that, Kevin closed the folder he had opened and returned it to his briefcase, closing the lid, he locked it, gave one more nod to the room - and then strode over to the fireplace, and disappeared into green flame just as smoothly as he had arrived.

Harry stood, and nodded to Brighton when he called out “See you soon, Mr. Potter,” before the mirror returned to the task of reflecting the room.

Harry and Hermione followed the others out of the room and down the corridor. Once both Ava and Gallows had walked off in a separate direction, Harry turned to Hermione.

“What the bloody hell?” he asked, eloquently, he thought.

“My office,” Hermione answered. “I’ve already got all the information.”

“Of course you do,” Harry muttered. “Why didn’t Sam call me?”

“Because he was recruiting intelligent people, Harry,” Hermione answered as she pushed her office door open. “Also…” Hermione strode over to her desk, picked up a sheet of parchment, and thrust it at Harry. “Because of point number 1.”

Harry read quickly. “I never said that.”

“It’s what he heard,” Hermione answered.

“Bloody Winchesters,” Harry concluded.

“Indeed. This should be interesting.”

And then the full reality of what they were about to do crashed in on Harry, and he stared at Hermione, his agape.

“We’re about to double-cross Sam Winchester.”

“We’re about to double-cross both of them, Harry.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

Kevin fell out of the kitchen fireplace to find a deserted house. He tossed his briefcase on the table, grabbed a bag of chips from the cupboard, two drinks from the fridge, and then shouldered his way out the backdoor and across the yard to the computer shed. 

“Hey,” he greeted the back of Nate’s head, placing the drink and chips down on the desk next to the keyboard. 

“How did it go?” Nate asked, glancing at Kevin quickly, before returning to the fight his game avatar was currently having with a hydra. 

“Surprisingly okay,” Kevin answered, hooking his ankle around the edge of their spare chair to drag it over and sit down. “You know, I think I might be good at this.”

“Good, because it’s your job,” Nate said, cutting off the final head of the beast. The game went into a cut-scene, and Nate turned and picked up his drink. “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” Kevin replied. “Any movement at Abbey Road?”

Nate paused the game and maximized a small window he had in the corner of the screen.

“Three near tourists deaths,” Nate replied. “Honestly, why do they think it’s a good idea to go during morning traffic? Everyone knows you want the street clear for that photo. You’d have better luck overexposing a shot at dawn. One fellow had a tripod - _ a tripod! _ ”

“I’ll take that to mean that you haven’t seen any sign of angels yet,” Kevin rolled his eyes.

“No, not yet,” Nate replied.  “So, what’s the plan?”

“Harry and American Aurors are going to go in and shut-down Sam’s operation,” Kevin explained. “Then uh… then the Department of Mysteries either cures Dean or imprisons him.”

“Bloody hell,” Nate swore. “Neither one of them is going to like that.”

“Yeah, I think I’m going to keep hiding here like a coward and hope they don’t come for me,” Kevin agreed. 

There was a tap at the shed door that had both Kevin and Nate raising their eyebrows. Nate pulled out his wand and stood up to pull the door open, keeping Kevin tucked away out of immediate sight. But when Nate cracked the door open, Kevin saw his shoulders relax, and he simply swung it open further and let their visitor into the room. A large grey owl with very impressive ear tufts flew in. It landed on the back of Kevin’s chair and held out its leg, waiting to be relieved of the note carefully tied there. 

“I think I’m being summoned again,” Kevin declared, bending down to read the note. It was from Christopher Gallows, giving him the meeting time. Nate gave the owl a potato chip while Kevin read. “It’s not for an hour, so - I guess that gives me some time to write my notes out better.”

Kevin quickly wrote in his approval for the meeting time and returned it to the owl, who hopped out of the shed and took flight. 

“Or enough time to go to Abbey Road,” Nate said, leaning towards the computer screen. “We’ve got an angel at the zebra crossing.”

Kevin strode over to the computer in two paces. There were the standard group of clustered tourists - a family, a group of teenagers, some college guys - but they were all obviously there for the crosswalk, trying and failing to get a break in traffic so that they could run out and do the pose. Then, standing by the hedge, as far from the road as possible, were two men. They weren’t interested in the crossing, besides looking over now and then whenever a car honked. No, they were standing with impeccable posture while glancing up and down the road - obviously waiting for someone.

“Which one is he?” Kevin asked. 

“Oh right,” Nate said. “I forgot you- er, he’s the - I was going to say the fit one, but they’re both pretty fit. He’s the tall one.”

Kevin nodded. “And do you know who’s with him? I prayed to Gadreel and Hannah - that doesn’t look like a Hannah.”

“I never met Hannah,” Nate replied. “I don’t know who that is - the only angels I met were Castiel and Gadreel. Do you want me to come with you?”

Kevin was about to say no, but then realized that if he was going to get to Abbey Road and then to the MInistry in an hour, he’d need a Wizard with him.

“Yeah,” Kevin agreed. “Let’s go.”

Five minutes later, Kevin and Nate apparated into the shadow of the Abbey Road Baptist Church, and then walked down towards the Grove End intersection. Kevin was getting used to side-along apparation, and he put the queasiness of his stomach down to nerves rather than physical displacement. 

Gadreel spotted him first, straightening where he stood - Kevin was surprised that he had any more room to straighten to begin with. Kevin wondered, not for the first time, if there had been signs he had missed in Sam - had Sam walked a little straighter during those months? Had he not hunched as much when speaking to Kevin. Had Gadreel emphasised the height disparity, where Sam had always attempted to reduce it? It was too late to know, of course, and it made no difference. What was done was done.

The other angel turned at Gadreel’s movement, and smiled at Kevin - an open genuine smile. the amount of warmth behind it took Kevin off guard.

“Kevin,” Gadreel greeted, once Kevin and Nate had come to a halt in front of them. “I am glad to see you well. I give you my deepest apologies for my previous actions - I was- led astray, not for the first time, sadly.”

Kevin simply nodded, he wasn’t sure he was capable of much else. He was fighting the urge to flee, knowing who was standing in front of him, but he tried to keep his face impassive. Thankfully, Nate broke the silence, holding his hand out towards Gadreel’s companion.

“Hi, I’m Nate, I don’t believe we’ve met.”

The angel smiled and shook Nate’s hand with an understanding smile.

“My name is Hannah,” he said. “It is a pleasure to meet you.” Then he turned to Kevin, and offered his hand in greeting. “And you, Kevin.”

Kevin numbly shook Hannah’s hand. “Oh, I… I was told you were a woman.”

Hannah just smiled softly. “The vessel Caroline wished to return to her husband. It was not right of me to keep her against her will.”

Kevin found some of his nerves settling at the idea that Hannah had simply let her vessel go, just because her vessel wished it. 

“Which pronouns would you prefer?” Nate asked. 

“Oh, you may refer to me however you like,” Hannah said, then added. “Thank you for asking.”

Nate turned to Gadreel then. “And you? I just assumed before-”

“It is only with prolonged exposure to our vessel’s thoughts that we begin to have preferences,” Gadreel answered. 

“Right,” Kevin said, because he didn’t invite his attempted-murderer to earth to have a discussion about gender identity. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Hannah - and um, it’s… uh, good to… meet you in better circumstances, Gadreel.”

Gadreel winced at that, but nodded. “Your request was for knowledge of the Mark of Cain. I must… I must tell you that I do not know how to rid Dean Winchester from its hold. I hope that this does not come as a disappointment to you.”

“No,” Kevin shook his head. “I had assumed that if you knew, you would have already told us. I know Sam tried asking Metatron, but that didn’t-” Kevin cut himself off as he realized that Hannah had lost his smile. Then he remembered that Sam had also told him that he and Cas had basically broke Metatron out of prison and then let him escape. “Uh, I… wasn’t involved in that plan, by the way. Believe me, Metatron tried to have me killed, the last thing I want is him out of prison and back on earth. Human or not.”

“I feel the same,” Gadreel grit out. 

“Right, so… I know Metatron knew what was on the tablets, and that’s part of the reason why Sam and Dean thought he might be able to help,” Kevin explained. “But I’ve also read the tablets and as far as I can tell, there’s no information there about how to remove the Mark. There’s also no information about what exactly the Mark of Cain is, or why it was created. But, Gadreel - you were there… at… the garden. I know you were imprisoned before Cain got the Mark, but maybe you know-”

“Lucifer had the Mark first,” Gadreel stated, as though the knowledge wasn’t a revelation to Kevin.

“What?” Kevin asked, eloquently.

“I was created in the beginning,” Gadreel said. “God created the archangel’s first, of course - he needed their strength to defeat the darkness and let there be light. Lucifer was key to the victory of creation, it is where he got his name. Before he was cast down, he was a hero - and we all… the angels revered him as God’s Second.”   

“Light bringer,” Kevin muttered. “And he had the Mark?”

“Yes, it was, we were told, a result of God’s victory over the darkness that existed before creation,” Gadreel nodded.

“Like.. a scar?” Kevin asked.

“Angels do not scar,” Gadreel replied. “It is… something else. A Mark.”

“Right, scars also don’t drive you to go on murderous rampages, and you shouldn’t be able to pass them to other people,” Kevin reasoned. “So, it’s some sort of curse… from… a battle?”

Gadreel looked like he wanted to shrug, but didn’t quite know body language, so he just tilted his head to the side. 

“God and the archangels drove away the darkness and let there be light,” he repeated. “Lucifer was left with the Mark. Lucifer then fell from God’s favour, after he refused to love and protect humans, which was our purpose. God had Michael imprison Lucifer when it became clear he meant to harm humans, though that was after I was imprisoned for letting him into the Garden. This is all I know.”

“Wait,” Kevin said. “You were imprisoned before Lucifer was?”

“Yes,” Gadreel intoned. “I was imprisoned for the crime of letting him into the Garden. Lucifer was not imprisoned until after he gave the Mark to Cain.” 

“Holy shit,” Nate whispered. 

“And that’s all you know?” Kevin asked.

“Yes,” Gadreel replied. 

“That’s a long time to be in prison,” Nate muttered.

“Yes,” Gadreel nodded. “I… regret what the Fall did to my brethren, and I regret what I did under Metatron’s command--” he gave Kevin a significant look “--but I find I am thankful that I no longer imprisoned, and am able, at least, to have the freedom to roam Heaven, even if I am still shunned by my brothers and sisters. Humans… have many different heavens to explore, and sometimes they even talk to me, and, of course, I have my vessel now to speak to.”

Kevin nodded, swallowing against the realization of how horrible Gadreel’ life must have been for so long, that he found such joy in  _ sometimes _ being spoken to.

He tightened his grip on the handle of his briefcase, debating. He hadn’t even discussed his translations with Castiel yet.

“Kev?” Nate asked, eyeing him.  At the crossing, some motorist honked at a particularly slow tourist. Kevin’s heart rate jumped.

“Do you have more questions?” Gadreel asked.

“No, I don’t, I…” Kevin shook his head. “I have… um… I have something for you.”

Without looking at their reactions, he closed the distance between himself and one of the low stone pillars of the fence next to them. He placed the briefcase on top and opened it swiftly. Kevin pulled out a battered folder and rifled through the handwritten notes inside. He then tore a blank page from a notebook. 

“Nate, can you - copy that?”

Without being asked, both angels moved to block the view from the crossing. Nate pulled out his wand, muttered “ _ Germino _ ”, and Kevin watched as his handwriting appeared on the blank page, just as it had been on the original. 

“I don’t want to get your hopes up,” Kevin said, as he turned and handed the copy over to Hannah. “I don’t have the actual tablet anymore, of course - I’ve been working off my notes, which were mostly in an extinct language, because… uh, reasons? Anyway, my point is - there’s no… there’s no reversal for the spell that Metatron used to kick you guys out of Heaven, but… uh, I found that.”

Hannah was staring down at the paper with his brow furrowed.

“What is it?” Gadreel asked, glancing between the paper, which Hannah was keeping to himself, and Kevin.

“It’s…” Kevin tried to think of how to explain it. “A section of the Angel Tablet. It talks about… fallen angels. It says that no being is beyond God’s forgiveness, and that if an angel were cast out of heaven - they can… uh, the word there could either mean heal or prosper… by demonstrating acts of kindness. It then talks about a bell - which I thought was just a line from It’s a Wonderful Life - but apparently there’s some sort of history with, not bells, but uh gongs? Which are sort of like bells, and-”

“-and with the ringing of the bells, the humans will announce their happiness,” Hannah finished, reading from the page of notes, “and the angel will begin to heal.”

“Right,” Kevin nodded. “So, apparently, humans - some humans - used to ring bells or gongs to show that something good had happened… and some think that gongs have healing properties, if they’re played correctly - uh, healing for the soul? The spirit?”

“You think this might heal us?” Gadreel asked, his eyes wide.

Kevin shrugged. “It might be worth a try. It’s the only thing I could find… about helping you. From what I can tell, the Tablets were actually made to… um, give humans a defense in case you ever… you know, started killing us.” He realized he was looking at Gadreel, and quickly looked away, back to Hannah, who was holding Kevin’s copied notes reverently - as though they were the word of God, which, Kevin realized, they kinda were - just translated a few times.

“Thank you,” Hannah said, his eyes glossy with tears. Kevin felt mildly uncomfortable, so he just shrugged.

“Thanks for… um, answering my prayer,” Kevin said, then turned back to Gadreel. “Thanks for the information. It might be of help. I don’t have a gong or anything… but, um, when I find one…” Kevin trailed off, because now Gadreel looked like he was going to cry. 

“Merlin’s beard, I need to hug you two, or I might explode,” Nate announced, and then flung himself at a startled Gadreel, who gently brought his arms around Nate and looked at Kevin with great concern, as though Nate might actually be in danger of exploding. Nate gave Gadreel three pats on the back before letting him go, and then turned and hugged Hannah too, who despite the warmth in his gaze, was even more awkward about hugging. Kevin laughed. 

“We have to go,” Nate announced, once he’d released Hannah. Kevin shut his briefcase and picked it up again, as Nate continued his goodbyes.  “It was nice to meet you Hannah, nice to see you again Gadreel.”

“And you, Nathan Lewin,” Gadreel replied to Nate, and then turned to Kevin. “You have my thanks, Kevin Tran - your kindness is far more than I deserve.”

“Well, you know,” Kevin shrugged. 

“I assure you, I do not,” Gadreel replied. Kevin smiled.

“You’ll deserve it eventually,” Nate translated, then he grabbed Kevin’s sleeve and pulled him down the street the way they had come. 

Kevin turned and followed. Some anxious part of him, that he hadn’t even realized had been there, settled. He puzzled over it, while Nate dragged him behind a bush and apparated to some dirty London alley. It wasn’t that he had been afraid of Gadreel, Kevin realized - or, that wasn’t only it - it was that a part of him knew that, somewhere, the angels still had the tablets. They knew he could repair them with just a touch of his hand. They knew he could read them. And he had been kidnapped, hunted, tortured, for two years because of those abilities - and yet, Hannah had just let him walk away. Kevin wondered if he should ring a bell for Hannah too.

“Okay, he didn’t give you a meeting room, so you’ll have to use the visitors entrance,” Nate was saying. “It’s the phone booth. Dial 62442.” Nate all but shoved Kevin into a small red phone booth. “Do you have your oyster card?”

“Ye-yeah?” Kevin said, confused.

“Good, see you at home,” Nate replied, closing Kevin into the booth. “62442, I’ll wait ‘til you go down.”

Kevin turned to the dialpad, lifted the receiver to his ear and hit the numbers.

A woman’s voice filled the entire phone booth.

“Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business.”

“Kevin Solo, Meeting with the Department of Mysteries,” Kevin stated.

“Thank you. Visitor, please take the badge and attach it to the front of your robes,” the voice said, and a pin appeared from the coin return on the phone. It said ‘Kevin Solo, On Department of Mysteries Business.’

“Visitor To the Ministry,” the voice continued.  “You are required to submit to a search and present your wand for registration at the security desk which is located at the far end of the atrium.”

“But I don’t have-” Kevin started to say, but cut off when he realized that the phone booth was sinking into the ground. He turned to look at Nate with wide-eyes, but Nate just waved at him cheerily and then disapparated. 

Kevin was plunged into complete darkness for what seemed an overly long time, but was probably only a minute or two, then the phone booth/elevator began filling with golden light from bottom to top - and Kevin could see out the windows again.

He was let off at the end of a wide corridor lined with fireplaces. Occasionally, someone would arrive or leave through the floo network, and Kevin wondered why it was that he couldn’t have just come that way. He fingered the small package of floo powder he had in his suit-jacket pocket and wondered if he could leave that way. He wasn’t a fan of traveling by floo, but it beat the Underground for efficiency and avoiding crowds. 

“The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant day,” the disembodied voice said as Kevin exited the phone booth and walked into the building.

In the main open area, there was a large fountain, with a group of golden statues. There was a wizard and a witch, a centaur, a goblin, a house-elf - they were all standing together, shoulder to shoulder, proudly. Behind the statue were golden gates, and to the left of those gates was a desk marked ‘Security.’ Kevin went over to it as instructed. 

The security guard, a middle-aged man with a bit of a beer belly, stood up and grabbed a golden rod off the desk. He read Kevin’s security badge and then passed the wand over him like a metal detector. It did nothing, so Kevin realized it wasn’t a metal detector. It had been years since Kevin went anywhere without at least a switchblade.  

“Wand?” the security guard asked.

“Don’t have one,” Kevin replied. The security guard furrowed his brow, so Kevin added. “I’m a muggle.”

“A mug… but… you’re going to the Department of Mysteries?” The security guard seemed extremely confused.

“I have a meeting with Mr. Gallows,” Kevin explained. 

“Mr. Gallows,” the security guard repeated, then seemed to come to some realization. “Right, not my business, is it. Off you go then, level 9 - that’s one below.” he waved Kevin towards a row of fancy elevators and turned back to his desk. Kevin wasn’t sure he was supposed to hear the muttered, “Unspeakables… bloody unspeakables,” so he just ignored it and carried on towards the elevators.

Kevin walked towards the gate, feeling somewhat out of place in his suit, since everyone else was in long wizarding robes. 

“One below,” Kevin muttered to himself. A lift opened in front of him, but he hadn’t pressed a button to call it, and there wasn’t any indicator to say whether it was going up or down. The person next to him, a woman who appeared just a little older than Kevin, dark-skinned and curvy, stepped onto the elevator. Kevin took a chance.

“Uh,” Kevin started, his hand preventing the door from closing, causing the woman to look at him. “How do you-”

“Your first time at the Ministry, love?” the woman smiled. “Come on in, where is it you’re wanting to go?”

“Department of Mysteries,” Kevin answered, relieved, and stepped into the elevator.

“Oh,” the woman said. “That’s- not at all what I expected. Right, none of my business. It’s just one below. I’ll take you.”

“Thank you,” Kevin smiled. The doors closed and the elevator, and Kevin could see that at least on the inside there were buttons and he felt rather ridiculous for asking for help. The woman didn’t say anything though, just hit the button for level 9.

The elevator went down one floor, and the disembodied voice from the telephone booth said, “Level 9, Department of Mysteries” and the doors opened to reveal a dark corridor, lit only by torches.

“Have a good day,” the woman said, as Kevin stepped out, and he wondered if she was making a joke. 

“You too,” Kevin returned, turning to smile at her, and hoping that he didn’t appear as intimidated as he felt. The elevator closed behind him and ascended again. Kevin felt sort of bad for making the woman go out of her way just because he thought that he wouldn’t be able to work a magical elevator.

He walked down the dark corridor towards the door at the end. He took a breath before he opened it, reminding himself that Sam and Dean believed that he could do this, and so did Teddy and Nate… and so did his mother. 

The room he entered was a large circular room, with many doors, none of which were labeled. The floor and walls were just as dark as the corridor, lit with blue torches that made the floor look like water. Across the room, Mr. Gallows stood. Kevin squared his shoulders and tried not to let it show how much Gallows looked like some sort of sinister undertaker. Kevin started to worry that he was saving Sam from working with dark witches only to do so himself.

“I hope I’m not late,” Kevin smiled, as the door closed behind him. “I had a meeting with-” Kevin cut himself off as the room suddenly started spinning around them, the doors becoming a blur of movement. The walls came to a halt. Mr. Gallows smiled and waved his hand to the right, a door to his left open. He laughed, and Kevin felt his smile become genuine. He reminded himself that it wasn’t Mr. Gallow’s fault that he looked like a horror movie villain and he happened to work in super creepy place - he was probably a nice guy.

“Not at all, Mr. Solo,” Mr. Gallows said. “I’ve assembled our lead researchers and theorists. If you’ll follow me.”

Mr. Gallows led Kevin into the open door, which led down an even narrower corridor, equally dark, and into a meeting room. Kevin tried to keep his cool. It was a lecture hall. There were at least twenty people, all in dark robes, sitting in a small tiered gallery of desks. Their focus was on the front of the room, where one lone slightly larger desk stood in front of a large two-storey chalkboard. As though Kevin were about to lead a university course on the Mark of Cain. Perhaps he was, Kevin realized. These weren’t university students though, they were all older, and would more easily be mistaken for professors. There were many genders and races, though the room was still predominantly white. The youngest among the group was the whitest white guy that Kevin had ever seen - and he was currently scrutinizing Kevin with narrowed eyes.

“Have we met before?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is partially a love letter to [the webcam at Abbey Road](https://www.abbeyroad.com/crossing) \- the time zones are such that I can watch the sunrise in London before I go to sleep most nights in Vancouver, and I find it very relaxing to do so... even though I'm often also watching tourists nearly get hit by cars. All Nate's observations are really my own, with the caveat that I did tune in on a London Sunday morning once, and you probably could get a descent shot in the sun if you went then.


	3. Chapter 3

_ “Have we met before?” _ The white guy asked, drawing the attention of the whole room off Kevin and to himself for a moment. 

“No,” Kevin replied, honestly. “Maybe I just have one of those familiar looking faces.”

“No,” the guy argued.

“If you’ll allow me to make introductions…” Mr. Gallows said, and the white guy looked momentarily chastised, before he seemed to decide to look angry instead.  “Everyone, this is Kevin Solo, representative for the Men of Letters. As I have already informed you, the Men of Letters seek our aid. One of their members has been cursed with the Mark of Cain, and they wish to either save him, or imprison him indefinitely.”

“We wish to save him,” Kevin corrected. “Prison is a back-up back-up plan, understand? A last resort… and even then… that won’t stop us from trying to save him, with or without your help. It’s just a-”

“A temporary measure certainly,” Gallows replied, but it was a little too diplomatic in tone for Kevin’s liking.

“He’s one of our most valuable agents,” Kevin stressed. “It’d be like if… Harry Potter got the Mark of Cain.”

“A grave circumstance to consider indeed,” Gallows conceded, but around the room, Kevin could tell he had gotten people’s attention. The white guy was still looking at Kevin with his brow furrowed and an angry expression, but Kevin was thinking maybe that was just his resting face.

“Now,” Gallows continued. “We won’t waste time introducing the room. If you wish to know anyone’s name, simply ask. However, due to the confidential nature of the Department of Mysteries work, I cannot tell you who is an expert in what field, nor should they speak of it to you - so do not ask. You are here simply to give us an overview of the situation, the research already done, and to answer our questions. Do you agree with this meeting agenda?”

“Yes,” Kevin replied. 

“Very well, please have a seat and we can begin.” Gallows motioned to the chair behind the desk at the front. Kevin put down his briefcase and opened it, withdrawing his notes, while Gallows himself took a seat off to the side. Kevin wasn’t the only one with notes - everyone had parchment and quills in front of them, and some people had large tomes stacked on seats next to them. Kevin didn’t try to read titles, but from what he glimpsed the titles were worn with time and most likely indecipherable anyway.

“Our agent was given the Mark of Cain, by Cain himself, approximately a year and a half ago,” Kevin began. “It’s caused him to become increasingly angry and violent. Last June, he was killed. He immediately turned into a demon and… escaped our control for a short period. When we recovered him, we cured him of his demonhood, but the Mark of Cain remained. He was, however, temporarily returned to his less violent nature, until once again the symptoms of anger and violence began to escalate. He is... getting worse.”

Kevin paused. He hadn’t had time to write down what Gadreel had told him, but he summarized as best he could.

“The Mark itself originated from Lucifer. My sources tell me that Lucifer received the Mark as a result of some battle at the time of Creation - when God and the archangels defeated… uh, the dark, and brought light. I asked if it was a scar, but my source informed me that angels do not scar. My source was not present after Adam and Eve were kicked out of the Garden, but we know that Lucifer gave the Mark to Cain… and that’s when it got its name. Then God had Lucifer imprisoned in the cage at the lowest reaches of Hell, behind the 66 Seals, beyond even the domain of the King of Hell. Cain, meanwhile, became a demon, trained the Knights of Hell, and created murder and mayhem until the 1800s, when he fell in love with a mortal woman and killed all the Knights of Hell, except one,  and promised to stop murdering people. Unfortunately, that didn’t last as long as we might have hoped.

“And, as I said, Cain gave the Mark to our agent, and then approximately five weeks ago, Cain began to murder people again. So, our agent killed him.” Kevin finished. 

The room was silent, and Kevin found twenty wizards staring at him with wide eyes.

“You’re saying that you know someone who was present at the time of the Garden of Eden?” One old wizard said.

“Yes,” Kevin nodded. “He’s an Angel.”

“You say that Cain himself is dead,” an older witch spoke.  “Killed by your agent. Yet, you also claim that your agent cannot be killed, but changes into a demon. How is it that Cain is dead?”

“Because our Agent has the Mark of Cain, he could kill Cain. He can also kill Knights of Hell - it’s why he got the Mark in the first place, to kill the last remaining one. So… now there’s no more Knights of Hell or Cain. So.. silver lining, there, I guess.”

“If he were to pass the Mark on, then that person could kill him,” another wizard, this time an older black man, said. “But, this would leave us with the same fundamental problem of the Mark still existing. A very clever curse, to ensure its own survival so well.”

“You said Cain gave the Mark to your agent. Did he retain the Mark or lose it in the act of passing it on?” Yet another wizard questioned. “By which I mean, was it a duplication or a transference?”

“A duplication,” Kevin replied. “He retained the Mark.”

“A clever curse indeed,” the older black wizard muttered. 

“Your agent…” the white guy spoke and Kevin wondered if it it were just his imagination, or if the guy had gotten even whiter. “What’s his name?”

Kevin hesitated. Part of him felt relieved, almost elated, that someone was taking interest in Dean himself - treating him like a person with a name, rather than a problem to solve, even though Kevin had been trying to keep identities out of it. The name Winchester was just too recognizable as a Hunter’s name. But he knew if the Department of Mysteries actually found a solution, and Kevin hoped they would, then they would be meeting Dean eventually. Kevin quickly decided that he could compromise, at least temporarily.

“Dean,” Kevin answered. 

The white guy nodded once, looked vaguely ill, and of all things, used his right hand to rub at his left forearm.

“It’s on the other arm,” Kevin found himself saying. 

“What?” the white guy asked, taking his hand immediately away from where he had pressed it. Some of the other wizards shifted uncomfortably in their seats.

“The Mark,” Kevin explained, feeling like he had committed some sort of wizard social faux-pas. “The Mark of Cain is high on his inner right forearm.”

The white guy gaped at him for a second, and then said, “Lucifer - if the Mark originated with Lucifer, he might be part of the solution. What do you know of him? Can he be killed?”

“He’s imprisoned,” Kevin repeated. “I told you - behind the 66 seals, in the furthest pit of-”

“He was freed a few years ago,” the white guy interrupted. “It could be done again. My question remains, do you know of a way to kill him?”

“Mr. Malfoy, that seems-” Gallows started, looking concerned, but Malfoy - because white guy had a name now, and Kevin realized it was one he had seen before - interrupted.

“Just- answer the question,” Malfoy replied. “Can he be killed by any mortal means?”

Kevin shuffled through his translations of the angel tablet, while silence fell on the room. Kevin didn’t dare look up to see what faces Gallows and Malfoy were making at each other.

“Lucifer is beloved by God,” Kevin read. “He is uh… destruction seal.... No- sorry, that’s uh, genitive, um… he is a seal of destruction and star of… no, that’s… uh, light bringer. Lucifer is a seal of destruction and the light bringer. God only will end him at… the end of all. No other may- no, shall. No other shall harm. Mikha- Michael has power to… cast low...uh, that’s either defeat or vanquish, um - then it talks about a death-like weakness, as far as I can tell, but it definitely isn’t death. Some sort of… half-death? Like...the undead?”

Kevin looked up to once again find everyone staring at him.

“Sorry,” Kevin said into the silence. “It’s a translation of a translation. I lost the original after- well, that’s not important. Um, the short-answer is ‘No’. It looks like only God can kill Lucifer. So… might as well keep him locked up.” 

“May we ask what it is that you are reading?” Gallows asked.

“Oh yeah - it’s um… It’s the Word of God, as transcribed by the angel Metatron,” Kevin answered. “Only, because it was written… well, it was a language only comprehensible to God, Metatron, and the Prophets - so I first translated it into proto-Elamite, based off an ancient codex I found linking the script to proto-Elamite cuneiform, after that it’s been a matter of translating proto-Elamite into English, which… has been a bit difficult.”

“The Men of Letters has access to the Word of God?” one of the Wizards asked, incredulously. 

“Well, we did,” Kevin answered. “Like I said - we don’t anymore. We lost the originals.”

“The Men of Letters LOST the Word of God?!” Another Wizard exclaimed.

“Yes, so sorry about that.” Kevin glared, anger rising hot through his entire body. “I was busy bleeding out on the floor while an angel tried to murder me - but I’ll try to do better to hang onto those stupid fucking tablets next time, I promise.”

“Perhaps we should return to the task at hand,” Gallows spoke from the side of the room, his voice measured and patient. Kevin took a deep breath and tried to unclench his jaw. He hated those fucking tablets and what they had done to his goddamn life.

“I want it,” Malfoy suddenly spoke up. 

“Mr. Malfoy-”

“Christopher,” Malfoy replied. “We are dealing with a curse that originates from Lucifer - an angel that the  _ Word of God _ claims is God’s  _ beloved.  _ This is not some idle curse created by wizards. This curse is ancient magic and, no doubt, unfathomable to the human mind. This is a project for my division if there ever was one.”

“Perhaps, _ Mr. Malfoy _ , you should let the  _ actual _ Head of your division make such monumental decisions,” Gallows argued back, while the rest of the room treated the exchange like a tennis match.

“Fine,” Malfoy conceded, he didn’t take his eyes off Gallows though, just continued to stare at him, as though he were waiting for something. 

“Mr. Malfoy has my complete agreement in this,” the man beside Malfoy spoke, and Kevin eyes shot to him, because he really hadn’t even noticed him before, Malfoy had drawn the eye so much. The man was very old, with wispy grey hair and kind brown eyes. He sat with his hands neatly folded in front of him. Unlike everyone else, he had no books or parchment laid out in front of him. It looked as though he had just come to the meeting to listen.

“So be it,” Gallows nodded. “Your division is officially in coordinating this project. Everyone, please bring all related materials and research to Mr. Malfoy’s attention. Mr. Malfoy, please feel free to contact the other divisions as needed. I expect full cooperation within this department.”

Everyone nodded at that, some seemed annoyed, though Kevin heard a muttered, ‘better them than us’ too. He hoped that Gallows had made the right decision, entrusting Dean’s fate to whatever Division Malfoy worked for. 

“Mr. Solo,” Gallows addressed him. “We thank you for your time today. We will be in touch.”

“Oh, uh, thanks, yeah,” Kevin said, wondering if that was really it. Did no one have anymore questions? They hadn’t even offered a possible solution - nor seemed to have any idea how to research further. There had been people looking things up in books while Kevin spoke - did they not have anything to add? Around the room, the wizards and witches were already gathering their things to leave, some levitating their stacks of books in front of them as they walked from the room.  

“Mr. Solo,” Malfoy called, getting Kevin’s attention, standing up behind his desk. “If you could remain a moment?”

“Yes,” Kevin replied, perhaps a little too eagerly. If Kevin left this room, he had nothing to do but go back to Grimmauld Place and play video games… If this was it- was this really all they needed from him? There had to be more that he could do to help. Dean was cursed and losing himself, and Kevin couldn’t just play video games while that was happening.

Kevin gathered his notes while he waited. Malfoy, meanwhile, helped the Head of his Division to standing, making sure the man had a good grip on his cain. He then helped him down the steps from the gallery, slowly, step by step, as though Malfoy had all the time in the world. He never once rushed the old man, even though Kevin saw his eyes dart to Kevin periodically in what might have been impatience. When Malfoy and the old man reached Gallows, who stood to the side of the room waiting, they exchanged low words that Kevin couldn’t hear, and then the old man was transferred to Gallows’ arm to be escorted from the room.

Malfoy stood and watched them leave until the door shut behind them. As soon as he and Kevin were alone, Malfoy all but apparated to the front of Kevin’s desk.

“You’re the Prophet,” Malfoy stated.

Kevin swallowed, and tried to control his heartbeat.

“I’m Kevin Solo, and you’re Draco Malfoy,” Kevin stated. 

“It’s why I recognized you,” Malfoy said. “I saw you- in Sam’s memories. You had longer hair at the time.”

“You saw-? How did you-”

“How’s Sam?” Malfoy asked, seemingly now uninterested in the Kevin. “He must be going out of his head with worry. How bad is it? How much time do you think we have?”

“You know Sam?” After an entire morning of meetings going remarkably well, Kevin suddenly felt like his entire charade was going to fall apart, not due to interrogative questioning, but due to  _ genuine concern _ . 

“Did they not tell you about me?” Malfoy asked. “How do you know my name is Draco, if they didn’t tell you?”

“I live with your cousin,” Kevin stated. “Your name is on the tapestry.”

“My  _ cousin _ ? What tapes-”

“The Most Noble and Ancient House of Black,” Kevin said, cutting Malfoy off.

“Oh,” Malfoy stated, obviously thrown. “So…”

“I knew Sam and Dean were friends with Harry,” Kevin said. “I met him, when he called on the mirror- and then I read the history books, but… I mean, I guess your family was mentioned, but-”

“Right,” Malfoy cut Kevin off. “Well, I’m… somewhat hurt. I did give myself a brain aneurysm saving Sam that one time. You’d think… you’d think he’d at least mention it. Dean calls me Drake - and he’s the only one who does and I let him for some reason.”

“Sounds like Dean,” Kevin laughed.

“Yes,” Malfoy smiled for a moment, then it faltered. 

“They’re your friends,” Kevin stated.

“I suppose… I believed them to be,” Malfoy shrugged, then affected a weird air of sudden condescension. “Not that the Malfoys usually associate with such types, believe me. A pair of brutes, aren’t they? Really, I shouldn’t be surprised that they felt themselves not cut out for the part.”

Kevin furrowed his brow at Malfoy, but Malfoy was inspecting non-existent dirt under his fingernails, and then vaguely staring at the stone wall, as though there were a window to the outside world there.

“The Winchesters are weird,” Kevin said. “About friends, I mean…. And well, in general too.”

Malfoy’s eyes slid away from the non-existent window to glance at Kevin.

“They tend to… be weird… about acknowledging that people exist, and telling them things,” Kevin continued. “I mean, I’m their friend too - and their official representative to the Wizarding World, but I only found out how bad everything was because  _ Hermione  _ told me this morning - and Sam only told her because he needed help cracking a code.”

“I should have realized this had Granger written all over it,” Malfoy nodded, glancing back at the empty lecture hall. “Tell me, what is this Men of Letters business? When did they join? I wasn’t aware the Men of Letters were still active.”

“They’re not,” Kevin said. “I mean - they are now. But… Sam and Dean are all there is. Well, except me, and I guess Cas and Charlie, sort of. They inherited it. They only found out… uh… two years ago, I think it was? But, uh, don’t tell anyone it’s just them, okay? We’re trying to… make people think it’s like it was, you know?”

“Interesting, did Granger arrange that ruse as well?” Draco asked, but then brushed his hand through the air indicating that Kevin shouldn’t answer.  “It’s clever, in any case. But you didn’t answer my question earlier. How are they? Really?”

“They’re falling apart.” Kevin sighed. “Everything… everything is really shitty right now.”

Malfoy nodded. 

“Right, well, then, let’s see what I can do to help - I suppose they’ll owe me one,” Malfoy declared, then smiled. “That might come in useful, you never know. Can you give me a copy of those notes you read about Lucifer?”

“Uh, yeah,” Kevin stated. He’d already shuffled his notes back into their folder, and he didn’t really want to rifle through them again. “I’ll uh… I’ll write them out better and send them to you by owl. If that’s okay?”

“Excellent, thank you,” Malfoy replied.

“Um - can I ask… what IS your Division? Are you a cursebreaker?”

“Not a cursebreaker, no. What I study is much more powerful than curses.” Malfoy smiled, widely - it was a little unnerving. “Trust me, if there’s a solution, it will be found in my Division.”

***

Hermione stood next to Harry outside the abandoned distillery. There was only one entrance, as far as the American auror team had found, but they had surrounded the building just in case. There was no sign of Sam, but it was clear that there was movement inside the building.

Hermione had spoken with Sam a few hours before. Sam had told her that he was investigating a case in Omaha with his brother. He had said that Charlie and Rowena weren’t getting along and he had called in Castiel to referee. It was the information that Hermione and Harry needed for their initial approach.

They did not know when Sam would be back, so it was of the utmost important they act sooner rather than later. Sam had informed Castiel that Hermione was due to arrive that day, and that much was true. Hermione just had very different plans for how to help than Sam did.

Harry nodded towards where Phil was stationed closer to the door and Phil cast a disillusionment charm, that made him appear to vanish. In reality, of course, Phil was still standing in the exact same place, waiting. Hermione knew it was her cue.

“Castiel, please hear my prayer,” Hermione started. “I have arrived to help at Sam’s request. However, I need you to trust me right now, because I plan to help in a way that is different than the solution that Sam is currently pursuing. I don’t have time to explain it to Sam, and I also fear at this point that he may… no longer be rational enough to hear me out. I’m counting on you, Castiel. I’m sure you must feel that nothing good can come from the Book of the Damned - and I know you must be very worried about Dean to have agreed to this plan. We’re worried about Dean too, Harry, Kevin, and I… and we want to help, and we will help - but you must… you must trust us. If you trust me- if you’re willing to trust me, please send Charlie outside. Tell her that I am waiting for her by my car, and I want to discuss her progress with the codex, someplace else, as I know her and Rowena are not getting along and she could probably use a break. Thank you. Amen.”

Harry slipped off, just out of sight, to get into position. Hermione bit her lip and help her breath. If Castiel didn’t send Charlie outside, then Harry and the Aurors would go in knowing they would face potentially three hostile people - two of which would be very powerful, the third, no doubt resourceful. If Charlie was sent out, then they would go in knowing they were meeting a powerful ally.

It felt like an age, especially since Hermione knew that Harry had given only five minute window to see if Castiel would comply. The sound of the door opening was such a relief that Hermione couldn’t contain her grin. The woman who stepped out into the dim twilight was slight, with red hair, curious eyes, and a small bag slung over one shoulder. She returned Hermione’s smile brightly, her whole face lighting up, and then strode confidently towards her.

“Charlie, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Hermione,” Hermione greeted, extending her hand. Charlie’s handshake was firm and her smile didn’t waver in the slightest.

“Nice to meet you,” Charlie replied. “And thanks for the save! That woman was driving me insane.” Charlie’s face was so expressive that Hermione found herself laughing, even though her adrenaline was high, knowing that she had a limited window to get Charlie clear of the distillery.

“Sam might have mentioned,” Hermione winked, then motioned towards the car.  “Come along, jump in. Let’s go find someplace quiet to look over your work, yeah?”

“A woman after my own heart,” Charlie replied, and all but skipped around to the passenger side of the car. Hermione felt a pang of regret at the ruse, but swallowed it down. She would tell Charlie the truth soon enough.

Hermione slipped into the driver’s seat, and buckled in.

“You’ll have to forgive my driving,” Hermione said. “I’m usually on the other side of the car and the road, but don’t fret - I’ve vacationed in America before, so I’m not  _ completely _ useless.”

“It’s okay, my motel’s not far,” Charlie replied, as Hermione started the car and pulled away from the dilapidated building. 

“Your motel?” Hermione questioned, almost absentmindedly, as she looked in the rearview mirror and saw the aurors converge on the doors. She knew Harry had said his own prayer before going in, it was all part of the plan. Hermione couldn’t stick around to see how the arrest went - it was part of the deal they’d made with Kevin, to protect his “agents” at all costs. 

“Well, yeah, I wasn’t about to sleep in a distillery,” Charlie answered. “Especially not with that witch plotting god knows what. But… I mean, I know I just invited you back to my motel room, but you’ve got a wedding ring on your finger, and I’m not the homewrecking type, don’t worry.”

“Oh,” Hermione said, laughing. “I didn’t think-”

“Now, of course, if you and your spouse have a certain arrangement,” Charlie continued, her voice going sly and silky. “Well, you just let me know.”

Hermione felt herself blush, and Charlie chuckled low and sweet.

“You’ve gotten me all flustered,” Hermione chided, then laughed openly and shook her head. “You and Dean must get along like a house on fire.”

Charlie laughed at that, and any tension that had built up in the car dissipated. 

“Yeah, we really do.” Charlie sighed. “I miss him.”

“We’ll get him back,” Hermione promised. “You have my word.”

Charlie smiled and nodded, and then Hermione, who was trying to concentrate on driving, saw Charlie turn and stare at her. Hermione glanced over with a quizzical expression.

“Who even ARE you?” Charlie asked.

“Ah, well… let’s just get to that motel first,” Hermione said, and hoped that Charlie wouldn’t be too angry when she learned the truth about why Hermione had lured her away from the distillery.


	4. Chapter 4

“Castiel, we’re arresting Rowena,” Harry had prayed. “You can either help, stay out of the way, or hinder, but I’d prefer if you helped.”

Then he had given the signal to engage.

The arrest went fairly well. Although Rowena was chained, it didn’t take her long to realize the intent of the people flooding into the empty distillery, and with a shouted spell she was free - by then, it was mostly too late for her, the defensive charms were in place, and containing and incapacitating hexes were already flying towards her. She shrieked and yelled, and managed to throw one auror at the wall, but in the end her voice was taken and she was knocked out.

The prisoner transport team was called in, and they spelled her further. She’d be extradited to Europe, through Boston, and end up in Azkaban until Trial, and most likely thereafter.

Castiel had stood still and silent throughout the attack. But when the auror had hit the wall and did not immediately get up, Harry had seen Castiel move towards them and give a gentle touch to their forehead before stepping back and staying out of the direct conflict. That was enough to give Harry some idea of how Castiel felt about the proceedings. He trusted them enough to let them work, but not enough to implicate himself in their actions.

Once Rowena was carried away, Harry stepped up to the table and picked up the Book of the Damned. He could feel it - the dark ideas that it contained. Hermione had been right to act at the mere mention of it. In the wrong hands - and Rowena’s hands were most certainly the wrong ones - the book could spell doom.

Phil appeared beside him, holding a curse box.

“Sir, it’s best not to linger too long,” Phil said, holding the box open for Harry.

Harry placed the book inside without a word. Phil promptly shut the lid.

It was as Phil turned to leave that Castiel spoke up.

“You can’t take that,” Castiel commanded. “Put it down.”

And, Merlin, Harry had forgotten how deep and ominous Castiel’s voice could be. It was as though he were transported to their first meeting, when Castiel had stood foreboding over him and commanded that he not speak of the prophecy to the Winchesters.

“Castiel,” Harry said gently, quickly motioning to the alerted Aurors that they could stand down. Phil remained frozen where he stood, but he did not put down the book, nor even turn back. He was just paused. “We’re here to help. The book is dangerous. We need to take it.”

“You can use it here,” Cas argued.

“We’re not going to use it,” Harry replied, keeping his voice even and soft. “We’re going to find another solution.”

“There is no other solution. The book offers the only-”

“The book offers doom,” Harry cut him off. “Castiel - what good has ever come of these desperate solutions? Of working with dark magic? Of making deals?”

“Sam said…” Castiel trailed off, then rubbed at his forehead. Harry motioned for Phil to go. Castiel just watched him leave, before saying, simply, “I need to call Sam.”

“Go ahead,” Harry replied. “It’s only a matter of time before… well…”

Castiel nodded and took a phone out of his pocket, hitting the screen twice, before putting it up to his ear.

Behind Harry, the remaining Aurors were waiting, seemingly casually for their next orders, but Harry knew they were all alert and watching his every move. Phil would be accompanied by a few of his most trusted while he transported the Book, but the rest remained in case Harry needed them to defuse the situation with Sam.

Technically, no one was supposed to know that Harry knew the Men of Letter’s personally - or that their UK Representative lived with Harry’s godson, but the situation was far too complicated for Harry to keep up any sort of ruse. He’d just have to deal with any fallout later, if his secrets were revealed.

“Sam, the wizards have arrested Rowena and are taking the Book,” Castiel said as a greeting, and Harry winced - so much for breaking it to him gently.

“I mean exactly what I said,” Castiel continued, then paused before speaking again. “As you wish - Hermione arrived and asked that I trust her. She told me that they were going to arrest Rowena, and that I should send Charlie out to her if I understood. So, I did.” Castiel paused, then looked at Harry as he continued. “I do not know where they went. Harry arrived after Charlie left, and everything… went down. They’ve taken Rowena and Harry insists that he must also take the Book. Philip O'Shaughnessy has already left the premises with it.”

There was a pause, while Castiel’s expression turned both desperate and stormy.

“What would you have had me do, attack your friends?” Castiel countered. Behind Harry, the Auror’s shifted. “Sam - they only want- I won’t hurt- Of course, I- Yes, alri-”

Castiel cut himself off and brought the phone away from his ear, staring at it for a moment before slipping it into his pocket.

“Sam will be here as soon as he can. He requests that you remain and wait for him,” Castiel told Harry solemnly. “He said there were dangerous people after Charlie and the Book, and that she should not be outside my protection.”

Harry turned to his Auror team.

“I can handle the situation here,” he told them. “Make sure Phil isn’t outnumbered. I doubt they’d care about Agent Bradbury if she’s no longer with the book, but just in case, I’ll call and warn her - keep your comms open in case you need to be redirected.”

“Sir?” Suraj stepped forward. “Our orders were also to protect you, should the rogue agents prove violent.”

Harry saw Castiel visibly bristle at that.

“Castiel won’t let Sam harm me,” Harry said. “I think an Angel of the Lord is enough protection - and keeping the Book safe is our top priority.”

“Yes, Sir,” Suraj nodded, leveling Castiel with a suspicious and assessing glare. He turned and motioned the team to follow him out of the building. They left only awkward silence in their wake.

Harry flipped his com-mirror open and called Hermione’s name.

*

“So, in addition to the secret society of Hunters and the secret existence of monsters,” Charlie began to sum up. “You’re telling me that there’s also a secret society of wizards and witches - who aren’t evil. And… Sam and Dean already know about them and you guys are all friends - and you’re here to help, but-”

“But we have to arrest Rowena,” Hermione reiterated. “Because she’s wanted in at least three European countries, with orders for her arrest going back centuries. Some call for her execution on sight, but those are the older orders.”

“And the Book? The  Book I just spent the last 24 hours trying to decode by getting insulted by that bi- wi- woman? You have to take that too? So it was all pointless!” Charlie continued. “Sam’s going to be so mad… and how else are we supposed to save Dean? And oh my god, I just went with you - because Castiel said you were a friend, but what it you just want the Book for yourself, and now we’re up shit cre-”

“It wasn’t pointless,” Hermione interrupted. “We ARE going to help. No one will use the Book. Certainly part of you must have been wary of the thing in the first place - the Book is evil, Charlie.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Charlie exclaimed. “Who do you think unburied it and was chased around the world, and SHOT, by those stupid evil dudes for having it. But Sam said it was our best chance-”

“YOU were the one that found the book!?” Hermione was momentarily dumbstruck and more than a little in awe.

“Sam said it was the best chance to save Dean,” Charlie said. “Of course I went to find it.”

Before Hermione could reply to that, Harry’s voice spoke from her pocket. Charlie’s brow furrowed, and Hermione just smiled in apology and pulled out her mirror.

“Harry, what’s your status?” Hermione asked.

“I’m good here,” Harry replied. “Sam’s on his way to speak to me - but Hermione, when Cas called him, Sam warned that there were some dangerous men looking for Charlie and the Book - I’m just calling to make sure you take precautions.”

“Of course,” Hermione replied, crossing to the door and throwing the lock and the deadbolt. “We’re at the Blackbird Motel. I’ll call if there’s any trouble.”

“Thanks Hermione,” Harry said, and the mirror went back to her own reflection.

“The Stynes are back?” Charlie asked. Hermione wondered if Charlie realized she had pulled her arm across her stomach and was rubbing at her side. Hermione spelled the motel door to stay magically locked in addition to the muggle locks.

“Don’t worry,” Hermione reassured her. “Why don’t you take out your notes on the codex while I slip off to the loo for a spell. I’d love to see the work you’ve done so far..”

“I thought you weren’t going to use the Book,” Charlie replied.

“We aren’t, but that doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t seek to understand it,” Hermione smiled, and entered the small dingy bathroom.

She was only in there for a minute or two, but when she came out, Charlie was all set up at the table - typing on a small tablet computer. She didn’t look amused.

“You’ve locked me in,” Charlie said, raising an eyebrow. “You really want me to believe you’re the good guys?”

“Kevin ordered us to keep you safe,” Hermione replied.

“I’ve never even met Kevin,” Charlie muttered.

“Why don’t you show me what you’ve worked out so far?” Hermione changed the subject. “Perhaps I can help.”

Charlie sighed, but she shifted over at the table so that Hermione could pull up a chair beside her. It was good enough for now, Hermione thought.

*

Sam hit the end button, furious, and turned to go back to the dungeon, only to nearly jump out of his skin. Dean was standing right behind him.

“What are you doing?” Dean asked. Sam’s heart leaped into his throat.

“Uh…” Sam floundered. “Something came up.”

“What?”

“It’s… nothing you need to worry about,” Sam said, then tried his best to deflect. “Uh, what’s going on in there? Get any more out of him?”

“Yeah,” Dean nodded. “An earful… truly. Let me ask you something-”

Dean was cut off by the sound of a door slamming. Sam found himself running back towards the dungeon along beside Dean - they hadn’t even gone that far, or for that long, and the guy had been chained up.

It was clear why that hadn’t mattered when they got to the dungeon to see the river of blood leading out of the room and down the hallway. A lone arm hung from the chain where their prisoner used to be.

“Oh my god. He ripped it off,” Dean said.

Sam saw his opportunity.

“He can’t get far, bleeding like that,” Sam announced. “You chase him on foot, I’ll get the car-”

“Hell no, we both chase him on foot,” Dean said, and all but dragged Sam after him.

Sam shrugged. If they didn’t catch him this way, Sam would offer to get the car again. Eventually, Dean would let him out of his sight.

They were silent as they followed the blood down the hall, through the war room, up the stairs, and out the door. They used flashlights to track the still shiny blood as it led away from the Bunker. Then, as they fell into a light jog, Dean spoke again.

“You know,” Dean said, weirdly casual considering they were tracking a murdering psychopath through the night. “I thought, ‘man, there’s a lot of them Stynes’ - you know - it’s like - uh - Alpha-male central.” Dean’s sentences started falling in with the rhythm of his breath and feet. “And then I thought - and this is key - I thought - ‘this is bad - but it would really blow if these guys had the Book. At least they don’t have the damn Book.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam said - because the Book was safe. The Book wasn’t with Sam anymore - but, Harry’s people had it. Harry’s people weren’t the Stynes. Though, they could be in trouble if the Stynes were tracking it again - and Sam, for all his anger at Harry - knew he’d have to warn him.

“At least the damn Book burned. Right, Sam?” Dean continued. “But then, Eldon Frankenstein - he hits me with this little fun fact. He say that the book can’t be destroyed. Says that it can’t be sliced, diced, shredded, burned, drowned. Cannot be destroyed. Ain’t that crazy?”

Sam’s heart was in his throat. The blood trail had run out, they slowed to a stop. There was no sign of Eldon Styne - just dry blood-free ground. And Dean knew - Dean knew, because instead of casting his flashlight around like Sam, trying to find a hint of a trail to follow, he was just standing there - scowling at Sam. And when Sam refused to look at him, Dean grabbed Sam’s arm and turned him so that he had no choice.

“Because, I know I saw something burn.” Dean finished, and raised his eyebrow. And Sam thought about how the Book was speeding out of his grasp as they spoke - of how Sam didn’t even have it anymore, because Harry had come to steal it for some stupid reason. Even though that book was Sam’s only damn hope of saving his brother. And every moment that Sam spent with Dean, trying to keep him in the dark, was another moment where the Book got further away.

“I kept the damn book, alright!” Sam said. “I kept it and I got the damn codex from the Werther box because Rowena needed it in order to decode the book.”

“Rowena!” Dean exclaimed. “You gave the Book of the Damned to Fuckin’ Rowena?!”

“She can’t even read it!” Sam said. “The damn codex is in code too! I had to call in Charlie and Hermione to help - only that fuckin’ backfired! Because now Hermione’s double-crossed me and taken Charlie somewhere, and goddamn Harry Potter’s arrested Rowena, AND taken the Book! And I can’t even go after him because I’m stuck tracking a goddamn Frankenstein through the woods with YOU!”

Dean’s eyebrows were both raised by the time Sam finished, and if it had been Dad - if it had been Dad, Dean would be stepping between them by now, dragging Sam out of the room or into the car or away somewhere - but there wasn’t anyone else but the two of them now, and Sam genuinely did not know what Dean was about to do.

“I’m going,” Sam declared. “Trails cold. I’m getting the car and I’m going to where Cas has Harry.”

“Cas too,” Dean said. Sam turned away, but Dean was right behind him. “Oh, don’t you dare think that I’m not coming with you. I obviously can’t let you out of my goddamn sight.”

Sam started jogging harder back to towards the Bunker. The rhythm made it easier to ignore the way his hands were shaking.

*  
Charlie thought that perhaps it was a flaw of hers - the fact that it was hard to resist showing off a little, especially when it came to beautiful women. But, she knew she was nearly on to something with the codex and Hermione was intelligent  - so obviously intelligent - and it was better than sex, or, well, close to as good as sex, to be able to talk shop with a beautiful intelligent woman.

“Ezekiel-” Hermione said.

“Seven letters”

“Seven represents the seeker…”

“Okay…”

“Okay.”

“Saints represent groups of letters that represent numbers-”

“-that stand for concepts! Represented by-”

Charlie hit Enter eagerly and the screen refreshed to show that they were right. She and Hermione turned to each other with broad grins.

“Oh wow. We might be geniuses!” Charlie said.

“Might? Please, you’re brilliant, and I know I’m brilliant, so I’m an excellent judge,” Hermione winked.

Charlie laughed.

And then suddenly there was a pounding knock on the motel door. Charlie startled, gathered her computer quickly to her chest and fled from the window.

“I know you’re in there, girl! Give me the book and no one needs to get hurt,” a southern drawl sounded from outside the door.

“Get in the bathroom,” Hermione ordered. Charlie was already halfway there, as she fumbled her phone out of her pocket and called Sam.

“Charlie, Cas already called me, I’m on my way to-” Sam said as a greeting.

“Sam!” Charlie interrupted. “I’m at t-t-the Blackbird motel. With Hermione-” who was now pushing Charlie into the bathtub for some reason, and taking that magic mirror out of her pocket again. “Someone is here - they think we have the book.”

“If you have the book, give it to them,” Sam ordered.

Beside her, Hermione was saying something into her mirror, and Charlie saw a guy with glasses reflected in the glass - but she couldn’t register what Hermione was saying with the Winchesters shouting in her ear and the loud bangs coming from the motel room door.

“I don’t-” Charlie started to say, but then Hermione grabbed the phone out of her hand.

“Don’t worry, Sam, we’ll be fine. Reinforcements are coming,” Hermione said, no hint of fear in her voice. Then she ended the call and tossed Charlie’s phone down at their feet, where it landed on top of their jackets and bags. Charlie hadn’t even noticed Hermione grab them from the front room.

“What-” Charlie started to say, but was cut off by a huge crashing sound. Charlie yelped. The picture window - they had broken the picture window of the motel room. They were coming in. A hand clamped over Charlie’s mouth and she was pulled backward into Hermione’s chest. Hermione’s other arm wrapped around Charlie, holding her with the crook of her elbow, but keeping her hand, and the wand held in it, free and pointing away from them.

Charlie tried to breath through the panic, in and out through her nose.

“Shhh, everything’s alright,  just stay quiet,” Hermione whispered into her ear.

Before Charlie could respond, the bathroom door was knocked open and a man with only one arm, the other a bleeding stump, came charging into the room. More clustered behind him in the door. Charlie wanted to scream, she wanted to draw her knife out of its sheath, but Hermione squeezed her tighter, her hand pressing against Charlie’s mouth harder - and Charlie stayed frozen as the man turned and looked directly at them…

...and then turned away again.

“Search the room! They couldn’t have gone far - there’s no fuckin’ way out!” he yelled, and everyone ran out of the small bathroom.

Charlie didn’t understand. Hermione didn’t move though, just remained completely still with Charlie clamped down in her embrace. So Charlie stayed still as well, listening to the men ransack the motel room just outside the door. No one came back into the bathroom.

“People always look into a bathtub,” Hermione whispered, so softly that Charlie had to strain to hear, even though Hermione’s mouth was right next to her ear, her breath warm against it. “But they never bother to put a foot in.”

Then there was another sound from outside, a roar of an engine and a screech of tires. Charlie heard the men in the motel room shout and then move outside again. Hermione immediately dropped her hands from around Charlie and pulled out her mirror again, as the unmistakable sound of a fight started up.

“Harry, the Winchester’s are here,” Hermione said into the mirror. “They’re fighting the Stynes.”

Harry’s face disappeared from the mirror a millisecond before Hermione snapped it shut. In that second, Sam ran into the bathroom.

“Charlie?!” he called, looking panicked.

“Sam!” Charlie called and Sam whipped his head around to stare, confused, in their general direction. Charlie leapt out of the tub, and Sam gave a full bodied startled jump.

“Jesus!” Sam exclaimed. “Fuck, you scared me.”

“Sorry?” Charlie turned to look at the tub, only to see it empty. “Hermione’s there too,” she added, and Hermione seemed to take that as her cue to step out of empty air.

“You okay?” Sam asked. If Charlie needed confirmation that Sam knew about magic and Hermione and everything, that was it - because the fact that two people had just stepped out of thin air right in front of him didn’t phase him in the least.

“Yeah, yeah,” Charlie said.

“Great,” Sam said, “stay here.” And then he ran out of the room.

“Like bloody hell,” Hermione muttered, following him. Charlie finally got a chance to unsheath her knife as she brought up the rear.

Sam scrambled out the broken window, but Hermione just waved her wand at the still closed door and it opened, allowing her to walk out into the parking lot without breaking stride. Charlie almost walked into her back when she followed her - because Hermione had come to a dead stop just outside the door.

The Impala was pulled up haphazardly across the narrow parking lot. Around it, lay the bodies of several men, their clothes soaked in blood and rain. The water splashed up pink from the pavement wherever the rain pelted.

Dean was covered in blood, wrestling the one-armed man. Dean had him bent backwards over the hood of the Impala. With one hand, Dean held the guy’s one arm held tight above his head, the other was around his throat.  Before any of them could speak, Dean let go of the man’s throat in a lightning quick move, pulled his gun, placed it under the guy’s chin and fired.

The crack of the gun and the sound the bullet made as it exited the head and hit the hood of the Impala was loud even in the rain.  The body slumped and Dean all but threw it onto the ground, then turned to face them.

His eyes only rested on Charlie for a second, but Charlie thought that maybe, under the scowl and the bloody splatter, Dean looked relieved.

“I can’t BELIEVE YOU,” Dean yelled at Sam. “Do you not understand how dangerous that book is?!” He gestured to the half dozen bodies around him.

“I thought it was our only chance to get you free of the Mark, so I grabbed it!” Sam defended. Honestly, Charlie thought, it was like they were fighting in their living room rather than a killing field.

“And then you pulled Cas into it. And Charlie!” Dean continued.

“Charlie loves you!” Sam yelled. “We all love you!”

Charlie nodded, but Dean only laughed bitterly at Sam’s declaration.

“Do you?” he asked, then he finally gestured to dead around him. “Well, maybe you shouldn’t. I’ll tell you what, I have half a mind to let them kill you, Sam - you’d deserve it! Maybe then you’d have learned a goddamn lesson!”

Charlie felt her heart sink to her stomach. Without another word, Dean threw open the driver’s side door of the Impala and got in, firing up the engine. Sam made a move to walk over towards the car, but Dean glared at him through the windshield, as he put the car into reverse and peeled backwards out of the parking lot - running over the legs of one of the corpses in the process.

“Let him go,” a voice suddenly spoke up from behind them, and Charlie yelped as she turned, her knife drawn and ready - only to be faced with a short wiry guy in glasses and Castiel.

“Harry,” Sam greeted, but it wasn’t friendly.

*

**_1 Minute Earlier_ **

Dean stabbed Guy #5 through the temple with the guy’s own stiletto knife then let go of the handle, so that he’d have enough time to spin and kick Eldon Styne in the balls and prevent him from clobbering Dean from behind. It was a successful move, and Dean was able to follow the kick with a punch to the jaw strong enough to make the guy stagger back. Dean had the advantage that Eldon’s balance was thrown off by the missing arm, and he used it - backing him up, until he could knock his centre of gravity backwards over the hood of the car.

Eldon went in for a punch, but Dean caught the swing and twisted and forced the arm back and up, his other hand went to Eldon’s neck to keep his head down and choke him out in one go.

“You think this ends with me?” Eldon said, in a literally strangled voice. “They’ll just send more.”

“Shut-up and die,” Dean ordered.

“We won’t stop ‘til she’s dead and the book is ours - or just ‘til she’s dead. Yeah, that’ll do.” Eldon smirked.

And that was enough for Dean. He reached for the gun, he’d managed to do without until now, and shot the guy in the head. He heard the bullet hit the hood, but he honestly didn’t care. All he could think about was how nice it would be, killing every last Styne on the planet. He turned to look at his stupid treacherous little brother, only to find Charlie standing wide-eyed by the motel door too. Sam, he couldn’t stand at the moment, but Charlie - she didn’t deserve any of this.

There was no time better than the present to start the extermination of the Stynes. 


	5. Chapter 5

Draco had worked through the entire day under the guidance of Liaf, the Head of Draco’s division. Together, they’d consulted with curse-breakers, historians, and those who specialized in understanding dark magic, how it functioned, and where it drew its power. There was also a consult with the expert from St. Mungo’s on how magic interacted with the Muggle body and mind. 

Kevin Tran had sent over his translations of the Holy Tablets in the afternoon - the words neatly written out by hand, though in some places, multiple options for possible translations existed. Kevin had been able to translate much of the dead language and angelic script, but there were still portions where he was not sure if a word was meant to be ‘divine’, ‘devote’ or ‘damned.’ In other places, he had noted where he had relied on context to translate a word - such as when the tablet talked of something that produced fruit, Kevin had aired on the statistically likely idea that the unknown word meant ‘tree’ or ‘plant.’

Draco had sent a note to Astoria informing her that he had been placed on a critical project and would be absent for the foreseeable future, but easily reached by owl, if she or Scorpius had urgent need of him. He transfigured his desk chair into a cot for the night, and slept under his cloak for the minimum time required to keep the mind sharp.

Due to his need for frequent consultation with outsiders, he took over one of the meeting rooms in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. This was approved immediately by Granger, since it was a DMLE endeavour to resolve this situation to the benefit of all parties. Draco was also pleased with this temporary relocation, as it put him within spying distance of the Auror Department - in fact, they shared a lunch room. And in this way, Draco could, at the very least, keep track of when the legendary Harry Potter had left the country, and any news that might filter through the rumour mill thereafter. Draco hoped that this meant he’d hear sooner whether Potter’s trip to the US had been considered a success or a failure - all Draco’s work might be for naught, if the Aurors failed to apprehend his patient.

What Draco hadn’t been expecting was for Granger to return first - he had expected her to have to glad-hand with some diplomats, as she was wont to do in these situations. Not only had he not expected her to return before Potter, he had also not expected that she would immediately, upon returning, come to see him - carrying a black box under her arm and towing a harried ginger-haired woman along with her.

“Do you have a particular interest in them?” Draco found himself asking. “Are you building some sort of collection? Do we not have enough?”

“What are you talking about?” Granger asked, looking truly stumped for the first time in her life. Draco enjoyed seeing the expression and then decided it was best he not explain himself after all.

“No matter. The more the merrier, have a seat,” Draco stood, and gestured to the empty chairs across the table from him in the small meeting room that he had commandeered. “What news?”

“Draco,” Granger began, pulling the chair from under the table, but not sitting down. “This is Charlie Bradbury, a Woman of Letters, and a dear friend to Dean and Sam. Charlie, this is Draco Malfoy, of the Department of Mysteries… also a friend of Dean and Sam.”

“A pleasure,” Draco greeted, extending his hand. The woman’s smile was strained, but genuine, as she returned his handshake.

“And this,” Hermione said, laying the black box onto the table and opening the lid, “is the Book of the Damned.”

It was a curse box, that much was evident even without spotting the white symbols painted on the inside. No, it was evident in the way, once opened, the room flooded with the aura of dark magic, and Draco’s stomach twisted. Draco reached over and snapped the lid closed again, swallowing against his nausea.

“More warning next time, Granger,” Draco bit out through gritted teeth. Half of him wanted to flee, the other half wanted to open the box again, and Draco wasn’t sure which reaction he feared most - no, that was a lie, he knew which he feared, but he had a feeling, much like always, that he had little choice in the matter.

“Right, sorry,” Granger said, and to her credit, it was at least half sincere. She had to feel it too. Even if the Muggle woman with her did not. 

“I thought this was to go into the deepest secure pit we have. Why bring it here?” Draco asked.

“We have a modicum of time before anyone expects it,” Granger answered. “I thought it might help. It can only be read using Nadya’s Codex, which according to the deal that we made with Kevin, is not to leave the possession of the Men of Letters. And it hasn’t - not as long as Charlie is here with it.”

As Granger spoke, the Muggle woman with her lay a vellum book on the table in front of Draco as well. No, not vellum, Draco realized - he knew the stories of mad Nadya.

“I broke the code last night - um, this morning, I guess,” the woman, Charlie, said. Her voice was sweet, almost shy, but there was a pride in her voice that belied any idea of passivity.

“Impressive,” Draco said. Charlie smiled, and yes, she was fully aware of her intelligence, that was certain.

“I leave you to it,” Granger said, stepping back from the table. “Ask Malfoy if you need anything, Charlie. He’ll be happy to get it for you.” Granger leveled Draco with a look that seemed to suggest that if he wasn’t happy, she’d end him. 

“I don’t know where you’ve gotten the idea that I’m not polite to guests,” Draco replied. Then he realized that Hermione was tortured in his house when she only seventeen, and decided that he should never speak again.

“No, you’re right, my apologies,” Granger conceded. “Shall we blame my lapse on Ron’s influence?”

“The only lapse we can blame on you is your choice to marry Weasley,” Draco answered.

Granger smiled and Draco felt a strange rush of victory. 

“I’ll return when I can’t stall demands for the book any longer,” Granger declared, and turned.

“Wait,” Draco said. “Can you… tell me what news you have? Has Dean been secured?”

“Not yet,” Granger said sadly. “He’s currently… in transit. Harry’s setting up a team.”

“So, he refused to come willingly,” Draco concluded.

“We didn’t get the chance to ask, but… Harry’s setting up a team,” Granger repeated.

“And Sam?” Draco pressed.

“Distraught is a good word for it,” Granger replied. “I really must go, Malfoy. Please use the time I’m giving you wisely.”

“Of course,” Draco replied. Once Granger left, Draco turned back to the Muggle woman. “Can I get you anything, Ms. Bradbury?”

“Uh, coffee? I’ve been awake for two days, and you can call me Charlie,” Charlie replied.

“Certainly,” Draco replied. “I’ll just nip out to the lunch room. Do you have everything else you need?”

Charlie nodded, and pulled a bundle of papers and a notebook out of her bag.

“Hermione already had me print off what I needed from my computer,” Charlie explained. “She said that electronics don’t work here?”

“Quite right, I’m afraid,” Draco nodded. “We’re working on changing that, of course, but you know how it is - big ships, and all that.” Draco gestured to the room, and hoped Charlie knew that he meant the entire ministry.

“Isn’t it always that way,” Charlie smiled and shook her head, as one might at an old lover. “You finally find a magical world, only to discover it’s got just as many problems as the world you came from.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Draco replied. “I’ve only ever been in this one. I’ll fetch your coffee.”

By the time Draco got back with the coffee, Charlie had commandeered half of the table. Surprisingly, she had set up so that her and Draco would sit next to each other as they worked, both books spread out in front of them, and Charlie’s printed pages stacked on her far side. She had yet to open the cursebox again, and for that Draco was thankful.

“I forgot to ask how you take your coffee,” Draco said, as he set Charlie coffee down in front of her, along with cream and sugar packets.

“At this point, it doesn’t matter,” Charlie laughed, but she helped herself to the cream and sugar, as she spoke. “I didn’t open the box yet… you… you can feel it right?”

“Can you?” Draco asked, not bothering to mask his surprise.

Charlie nodded. “Maybe it’s my time spent in Oz, but… “

Draco didn’t know what Oz was, but if Charlie was a friend of the Winchesters, he realized that he shouldn’t be surprised that she had come into contact with Dark Magic before.

“Shall we get this over with as quickly as possible then?” Draco suggested, taking his seat beside Charlie.

Charlie took a deep breath and nodded, and then flipped open the box. Draco was braced for it this time. Though it still turned his stomach, it was more as if he had caught sight of a moldy sandwich rather than the feeling of having eaten one. Still, he was surprised at Charlie’s fortitude when she reached forward and lifted it out of the box and actually opened it.

“Alright,” Charlie declared, pulling Nadya’s codex towards her. “Let’s decode this fucker!”

Draco bit back a smile and then got to work.

The first half hour or so was spent getting used to deciphering the double code, and trying to locate the correct spell. Draco made sure not to decode more of a page than he had to - as soon as he felt certain that the spell was not the one they were looking for, he would quickly move on, and try to forget all that he had read. He’d go as far to remove the memories later, but for now, he focused on the need to be done with the book as soon as possible. He hadn’t been tempted by power since his school days, possibly because of his school days, but he knew too many stories of Wizards being seduced by objects of Dark Magic themselves. The origins of the Styne family were a well known parable for that very reason.

Once they found the correct spell, they focused on translating only it. Draco quickly copied the translation onto a blank piece of parchment, while Charlie read it aloud. They translated the titles only for the remainder of the book, just in case something else might apply, and then Draco put the book back into the cursebox.

“So, how did you meet the boys?” Charlie asked, leaning back in her chair. It appeared, now that they had locked the book up, that they were taking a short break.

“They needed me to break into my place of employment for… certain reasons,” Draco replied, vaguely.

“Dude! You too!?” Charlie explained and smacked his arm.

Draco turned and stared at her.

“My boss was a leviathan,” Charlie explained, as though Draco had been surprised at what she said, rather than the fact that she had struck him.

“Ew,” Draco replied honestly.

“I know, right?!” Charlie laughed. “I got my arm broken for my trouble. You break anything?”

“Just the law,” Draco shrugged. Charlie waved that away as though she broke the law three times before breakfast. Draco thought about how a Muggle woman might end up with the Book of the Damned, and decided that she most likely did.

“Anyway, what’s with the villain get-up?” Charlie asked.

“The what?” Draco asked in return.

“You know - the sinister Bond villain look that you’ve got going on,” Charlie waved her hand at Draco’s general person.

“I’m wearing a cardigan,” Draco pointed out, looking down at what was, indeed, his best cardigan.

“A BLACK cardigan - with black everything else…. It’s all very…”

“Sinister villain?” Draco repeated.

“Well yeah?”

“Well, I suppose old habits die hard,” Draco shrugged. “I’ll try to wear a pink shirt next time.”

Charlie raised an eyebrow, but then smiled. “Light blue would be better.”

“I’ll tell my wife,” Draco said. “She’s the one that bought me the cardigan.”

“I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s a nice cardigan,” Charlie conceded. 

“Thank you,” Draco replied. “I see you’re going for the American Hunter look.”

“You think?” Charlie questioned, glancing down at herself, she smiled. “Last time I went Hunting, it was for that book, and I got shot.”

“Well, shall we see if it was worth it then?” Draco asked, gesturing to the translation.

“It better be,” Charlie muttered.

They both turned back to the translation.

“So... I don’t know about the first two ingredients,” Charlie said, breaking the silence again. “But I’m assuming this spell is a no-go based simply on the third.”

“We were never going to use the spell,” Draco replied. “But yes, suffice it to say, I will not be sacrificing any of my loved ones. I doubt Dean would appreciate it even if I were willing.”

Charlie nodded. “Yeah, Dean’s pretty anti-human sacrifice.”

Draco read over the instructions again, the words used, it was all rather fascinating, but he couldn’t quite figure out what to make of it.

“We’re going to need more dictionaries, I’m afraid,” Draco announced. Charlie groaned.

There was a knock at the door, quickly followed by Granger simply entering. Both Kevin and Potter followed behind her.

“Have you translated the spell?”

“Have you secured Dean?” 

Granger and Draco both asked simultaneously. When Granger only raised an eyebrow, and Potter’s response was a brief smile and silence, Draco decided the implication was that he should answer first.

“Only just,” Draco replied. “The task of understanding it’s machinations remains.”

“But you’ve finished with the book?” Harry nodded towards the closed cursebox.

“Yes.”

“Hermione,” Harry ordered, and Granger stepped forward, picked up the cursebox and left the room. Once the door was closed, Harry pulled out a chair and all but collapsed into it, and scrubbed a hand over his face and then through his hair. Draco was filled with the conflicting desires of wanting to know everything, yet not wanting to ask.

Kevin stepped forward and smiled at Charlie.

“Hi Charlie, I’m Kevin,” he said. “It’s nice to meet you. I hope- uh, I hope I didn’t make a bad impression, with… all this.”

“No, no,” Charlie said. “You - you got us more help. It’s - we probably need it.”

“Probably?” Draco couldn’t help but drawl. “Your previous plan was to have a known criminal use dark magic through human sacrifice. I’d hate to see what situation you would decide dire enough to declare that you  _ definitely  _ need help.”

Charlie and Kevin both frowned at him.

“Don’t take it personally,” Harry told them. “He was raised by wankers.”

Now the two Americans had raised eyebrows. Draco merely glared at Harry. 

“And - have you secured Dean Winchester?”

“Yes,” Harry replied, the smile leaving his face. Draco would have felt bad, if Potter hadn’t just insulted his parentage. “We finally caught up with Dean when he returned from Louisiana.” Harry looked at Charlie as he continued. “He… slaughtered nearly all of the Styne family, and wishes me to relay the message that you should feel safe now.” 

Charlie bit her lip and nodded, and to her credit, Draco could not tell whether she was pleased or disturbed by this information. Perhaps, much like Draco, she was too busy trying to comprehend the events.

“The American Aurors arrested a few stragglers,” Harry continued, looking back toward Draco. “One is a teenage boy they found hiding in a broom cupboard. He seems adamant that he has no desire to follow in his family’s legacy and the Americans are hopeful for his continued cooperation.”

“And when you say slaughtered…” Draco began, wondering how to phrase his question.

“When he returned, it was my decision to send Castiel to talk to him first,” Harry said, by way of answering what had remained unspoken. “I was still trying to keep things… quiet. Just between us - as usual.”

Draco nodded. Anyone who had attended school with Harry knew that he preferred to keep his circles small.

“Dean very nearly killed him,” Harry said. 

Charlie’s sharp intake of breath was loud in the silence of the room.

“Cas is healing himself,” Harry tried to assure her. “He says he’ll be fine by tomorrow.”

That seemed to only make matters for Charlie and Kevin worse though, as they both cringed. Draco realized why only a second after them. It wasn’t a matter of Dean nearly killing Castiel, but not harming him - it was a matter of Dean not harming him  _ enough _ to kill him.

“He’s really that far gone?” Draco asked. 

“When he exited the Bunker alone, we feared the worst,” Harry replied. “I had the Auror team move in and restrain him. It took… far more than we were expecting. The Mark makes him stronger - resistant to magical restraint of all forms. We were finally able to restrain him long enough to- well, we’ve essentially put him in a magical coma.”

“The Aurors?” Kevin asked.

“There were injuries, but no fatalities,” Harry assured him. Kevin breathed a sigh of relief. 

“What happens now?” Charlie asked.

“That’s a good question,” Harry replied. “The short answer is that either the Department of Mysteries comes up with a way to save Dean or… the Department of Magical Law Enforcement comes up with a way to restrain him indefinitely. In the meantime, however, I say we could all do with some sleep.”

Before Draco could protest, Kevin spoke directly to Charlie.

“You can come stay with me,” he invited. “If we leave now, you’ll have time for a nap before the boys get home from work.”

“The boys?” Charlie asked.

“My housemates,” Kevin replied. “You’ll love them.”

“What about-” Charlie gestured to the table. Draco considered both the work that stretched out before him and also the exhaustion laced in every facet of Charlie’s demeanor. 

“I have plenty to work with,” Draco replied, honestly. “I promise to call on you if I require more help, but in the meantime, you should rest.”

“We’ll be at Number 12 Grimmauld Place,” Kevin said, as he gave Draco a thankful smile. Beside him, Harry’s eyes went momentarily wide before he schooled his expression. 

“A rest will do you well,” Draco nodded. “You’ll be able to return with fresh eyes and renewed mental capacity.”

Charlie laughed. “God, the way you talk - you totally just called me stupid-tired right now, didn’t you?”

“Sorry?”

“You’re right, of course,” Charlie waved her hand dismissively. “I am the definition of stupid-tired. I haven’t slept for… god, two days.”

“I know what that’s like,” Kevin commiserated. “Friggin’ Winchesters - come on. I’ll even brew you Teddy’s special sleepy-time tea. You’ll get the best sleep you’ve ever had.”

Charlie gathered the codex, and her notes on how to translate the codex, and then followed Kevin from the room. Both Americans wishing Draco and Harry good luck and extracting promises that they’d call if they needed anything.

It was only after the door closed behind them that Draco mentioned Harry’s slip.

“He’s the secret keeper, I take it,” Draco said. 

“Yeah,” Harry nodded. “I didn’t mean any offence - It’s only that…”

“That when you lived there, you would have never told me,” Draco finished. 

“I don’t know,” Harry shrugged, but then conceded with a nod and a muttered, “yeah.”

“Yesterday, he told me he lived with my cousin,” Draco explained. “In the house of Black. He’d only just met me. I could remember the street, but not the house number… after years of not being able to remember either. Funny, how these charms work… and how trust is given differently in each generation.”

Harry was silent and Draco was more than happy to leave the conversation there.

“Albus tells me that he and Scorpius are getting on well,” Harry said - and Draco figured Potter would never let him have the last word.

“Yes,” Draco nodded. “Scorpius speaks highly of Rose Weasley as well. I’ve encouraged him to study with her, as… in retrospect, if myself and Granger had cooperated instead of competed, we could have most likely ruled the world.”

Harry laughed. 

“Don’t tell Granger I said that,” Draco added. 

Harry mimed sealing his lips, even without losing the grin on them.

“How about Sam?” Draco asked, bringing them back to safer topics. “How is he?”

“Sam’s level of desperation is…” Harry gestured to the notes in front of Draco, “... alarming.”

Draco glanced down, and his eyes went to the third ingredient of the spell on their own accord. 

“Right,” Draco agreed. “But - he’s cooperative?”

“He doesn’t have much choice, and he’s recognized that,” Harry answered. “I’m not his favourite person in the world at the moment though, I’ll say that much.”

Draco couldn’t help the huff of laughter that escaped him.

“You never were, Harry,” Draco shook his head. “His favourite person is the reason we’re in this mess.”

Harry smiled in return. “Too true.”

“Can I see him?” Draco asked.

Harry shook his head. “I put both him and Castiel on a private muggle airplane to Heathrow. They won’t be here for another eight hours. With Castiel… being what he is and injured, I didn’t want to risk magical transport - and I figured Sam could use the time to cool down.”

“You trust him to keep his word and actually arrive at Heathrow?” Draco asked.

“Of course,” Harry replied. “We have his brother.”


	6. Chapter 6

Charlie followed Kevin back through the Auror department and to the elevators. They didn’t speak, because it was obvious that everyone in the entire department was way too interested in whatever business they had there.

The silence continued into the elevator and out through the grand lobby. Charlie tried not to marvel too much - but she had only glimpsed everything briefly when Hermione had transported her to London and then dragged her into a phone booth.

Kevin led her into the same phone-booth now, and it began to ascend towards street level. Once they were ensconced in the cramped dark place, Kevin finally spoke.

“I figured you probably hadn’t traveled by floo before - and it’s kind of a horrible experience if you don’t know what to expect,” Kevin explained.

“What’s floo?” Charlie asked, then remembered the banks of Fireplaces they had walked by, and put two and two together. “Nevermind - the fireplaces, right? Uh, yeah, they had something similar in Oz. I never did it myself though.”

“I’m sorry I missed you that weekend,” Kevin replied. “Though - uh, wicked witch possession was probably the last thing I needed back then, so maybe I’m not sorry I missed THAT.”

The phone-booth made it up into the light of day, and Charlie blinked against the grey glare of the cloudy sky.

Kevin flagged down a taxi once they were on a main road.

“Have you been to London before?” Kevin asked.

Charlie nodded. “I did the backpacking thing with a girlfriend when I was around eighteen. She was going off to college, and it was sort of… our last hurrah. See how many European cities we could uh, christen.”  Charlie waggled her eyebrows at Kevin, who laughed as he blushed.

“You’ll get along with Teddy and Nate well,” Kevin concluded, then guessing Charlie’s question, continued. “My housemates. They did a trip to NYC last year - it was supposed to be dedicated to shagging as many people as would have them. But uh, that plan went off the rails pretty early for various reasons.”

Kevin cut a look to the taxi driver, and Charlie realized that there was a part of that story that revolved around the preternatural world - so Charlie just smiled and changed the subject.

“Maybe if they don’t send me back to the States right away, I’ll be able to sight see a little more than I did back then,” Charlie said. “Now that I’m not a broke eighteen year-old with only one thing on my mind…” Charlie considered for a moment. “I think these days, I have at least three things on my mind.”

Kevin laughed.

Eventually, they pulled up to a row of townhouses, all standing drab grey in the threatening rain. Kevin paid for the cab and then joined Charlie on the sidewalk.

“Did you hear me tell Draco the street address?” Kevin asked.

“Number 12,” Charlie recalled, and then just as she spoke, the houses seemed to slide apart in front of her, adding another house in the row. “Whoa!”

“It only does it the first time.” Kevin smiled. “Neat, huh?”

Charlie followed Kevin up to the door and into the house. As soon as she stepped through the door, it was like going back in time, and yet, thanks to the coats and boots piled haphazardly in the hall and the movie poster hanging on the wall at the bottom of the stairs, it also felt like walking into a college dorm. The house itself might be old, but its inhabitants clearly were not.

“Teddy will want to give you the grand tour himself,” Kevin said, as he motioned her to follow him past the entrance to the living room. “It’s actually his house. But I’ll show you the kitchen - get you that tea I promised - and the spare room. I’ve already made it up for you.”

Kevin led her down some steps and into a huge room. It had a long wooden table down the length of it, a huge fireplace, and a full kitchen at one end. Kevin filled a kettle at the sink and put it on the stove. He touched a mark on the stove and said “Front right element - high heat” and a blue flame surrounded the bottom of the kettle.

“Whoa, what make is that?” Charlie asked.

“Magic,” Kevin answered. “Uh, actual magic - usually you’d need a wand, but Nate charmed it to respond to voice commands as long as you’re touching it. At first we tried it without the touch to confirm, but then we either ruined dinner or couldn’t talk in the kitchen - and given that we spend about half our time in here, that really wasn’t an option.”

Charlie smiled and sat down at the end of the table, dropping her bag at her feet, she watched as Kevin opened a cupboard that held an overwhelming collection of tea tins and deftly reached in and picked up the one he wanted with obvious familiarity.

“Teddy makes teas,” Kevin explained, gesturing to the still open cupboard, as he measured leaves into a tea ball. “It’s sort of his job.”

“Sort of?” Charlie asked.

“He’s studying medicine,” Kevin answered. “Uh… like, magical medicine? Healing potions, treatments, that sort of thing.”

“Are you drugging me?” Charlie raised her eyebrows.

“Well, yeah,” Kevin said. “But not, like, maliciously! I drink this stuff all the time - it’s super awesome for naps - especially when you’re stressed out.” Kevin reached into the cupboard for another tin, and started preparing a second tea infuser.

“What are you making for yourself?” Charlie asked.

“Oh, I just think this one is tasty - he puts orange and some weird spices in it,” Kevin answered. Kevin held out the tin so that Charlie could read the label:

_Kevin’s Strange Orange Tea That He Likes For Some Reason_

Charlie smiled.

“I take it it’s not popular with anyone but you?”

“Not my fault they have no taste.”

“Why did Teddy make it in the first place if he doesn’t like it?”

“He likes to experiment,” Kevin shrugged. “Before he got his current research position, we were his test subjects. The orange one was supposed to help lessen eye-strain, but it turned out to be a dud. Doesn’t do anything but taste good. ”

“Do Sam and Dean know you’re living with a drug lord?” Charlie joked.

“He’s not a-” Kevin protested, but then cut himself off when he actually looked at Charlie and saw she was kidding. “Teddy’s Harry’s godson. That’s how he got the house - and also how I met him. My mom lived here for a bit too, you know - he’s passed the parental check.”

“Where’s your mom now?” Charlie asked, as the kettle boiled and Kevin steeped their teas.

“She got own place,” Kevin answered, bringing the teacups to the table. “I’m too old to live with my mother - and Mom’s pretty intense - and Ted’s got an anxiety disorder - it was a bad mix. Plus, Nate felt judged every time he tried to go out to the clubs and… yeah, basically everyone in this house is too old to live with my mother.”

Charlie laughed and blew across the top of her tea. It was still too hot to drink.

“I should probably also warn you that Teddy is a shapeshifter,” Kevin said, ignoring his own tea in favour of leveling her a serious look. Charlie’s brain sort of stuttered, but before she could say anything, Kevin continued. “He’s a wizard kind - they’re called Metamorphmagi. It’s genetic, but they’re not like the kind Sam and Dean hunt. He doesn’t shed his skin or anything - but yeah, he usually sticks with one look when he’s outside, but at home he tends to change appearance based on how he’s feeling. So, don’t freak out if that happens.”

Charlie nodded. She was exhausted and this was a lot to take in - but she was definitely interested in actually meeting Kevin’s housemates, whenever they got home.

Tentatively, she took a small sip of tea. It was still a little too hot, so it was the smallest sip she could take, while still being considered a sip.

Not even two seconds from when she had swallowed the tea, she felt the effects - as though she had just sunk into a warm bath. The muscles in her neck slowly started to relax. Charlie took a larger sip, and the muscles down her back followed suit, slowly unknotting and relaxing.

Kevin grinned at her.

“Oh wow,” Charlie all but whispered. “It’s like a massage in a drink.”

“Yeah, I might have made it a little too strong,” Kevin nodded, taking a large gulp of his own tea, and then standing from the table. “Come on, I’ll show you to your room, before your legs get noodly.” Kevin scooped up Charlie’s bag with his free hand, with an “allow me!” and then led her back out of the kitchen, and up a flight of stairs.

“Bathroom’s just there - that over there is the study - and this will be your room,” Kevin announced, as he used his shoulder to open the door, placing Charlie’s bag at the foot of the bed. It was made up like a hotel room, with a little desk and large comfy armchair.  

“If you need anything, I’ll either be in the study or the kitchen,” Kevin said, as he turned to leave. “Have a good nap!”

Charlie nodded, took another sip of her muscle-relaxing tea, and blinked overly long, and then had the presence of mind to at least take off her jeans before she collapsed on the bed, burrito-rolled herself into the duvet, and fell asleep.

*

It didn’t take long for the rumour to get out that Harry already knew the Men of Letters - the Americans, of course, had witnessed first-hand that Sam and Castiel had already had contact with him, enough to be familiar. It wasn’t even that the American Aurors gave the game away - no, it was inevitable that the Aurors in Britain would put it together in short order. After all, when Dean arrived for transport to Azkaban, quite a few recognized him as their special training instructor from all those years ago. Harry, perhaps, could blame Sam and Dean’s ability to make an impression - but he also had the voice in his head, that sounded suspiciously like Ron, informing him that no charade that large could have been kept forever.

It wouldn’t have been so bad, that knowledge alone - Harry could play it off as having suspected the two brothers were Men of Letters the whole time he had known them - and had hoped to eventually make contact with the organization. Hermione and he had already crafted the debrief to that effect, albeit mostly in a half-hour rush before he had been sent to the US to apprehend Rowena and secure Dean. No, what made it worse, and what Harry had hoped to avoid, was the reveal that Sam and Dean, were - well, _the_ Sam and Dean. Not that the coincidence was likely, and Harry knew it had been a pipedream to play it off as such - but it was still a small hope that it might be possible. The Americans had put it together quickly, however - and Brighton hadn’t been too pleased that Harry had been “holding out on them” with his association.

And it may have ended there, except that Brighton had mentioned it in a meeting with the head of the American Department of Magical Law Enforcement, who then mentioned it the American Minister-General… who was the sort of politician who wanted to be more important than he was. He resented the fact that the American magical communities were fractured into several distinct groups with separate governing bodies. He wanted them to be united, just as the muggle United States were united under one federal government. Moreover, he resented the fact that New England was still New England as far as the American Ministry was concerned, and although independent in all but paper, they were still technically a Wizarding colony.

That was all to say that the American Minister-General decided to make a stink about a British Auror secretly making ties with known hunters/criminals under American jurisdiction. Which meant that the name Winchester and all that came with it reached the ears of Kingsley Shacklebolt - the entirety of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, the Wizengamot, and more ruinous to the quality of Harry’s day - his Auror team.

It wasn’t that Harry was surprised that there were now rumours of a special investigation was likely to be called into his past dealings with the Winchesters - it was more that he really didn’t want to deal with it while he was already stressed out about Dean being cursed, Sam being mad at him, and an angel ending up beaten to a pulp because Harry made a bad call in sending him in alone. Castiel, of course, didn’t blame Harry in the slightest - but it was just another bit of protocol that Harry had broken that he felt had bit him in the arse. You never send a man in alone against an unknown threat, no matter how highly you estimate his fighting skills.

“Smithsons defending you,” Maria told him. “Which is good, because most will listen to him. Till, of course, is also on your side, but...”

“...but people can’t hear him over the louder voices,” Harry finished. “Also, he needs to keep his own involvement secret.”

“And we can definitely protect him, I think - there are no other witnesses to his involvement,” Maria said. “You have American Aurors who are now putting it together that they may have seen Sam and Dean during the dementor incident in 2009. We can claim that’s when you met them - you’ll have to come clean about that one, though you could say that you didn’t learn their last names until the next year, when, of course, you have an entire Auror department and a magical school that can attest to having seen them in your company. After that, you can claim only correspondence, with the story that Hermione and you have concocted.”

“Right, so, who’s against me?” Harry asked.

“Whiteheads up in arms about it,” Maria rolled her eyes. “He’s a little old school when it comes to Hunters. Also, apparently, the notion that you may have been doing things beyond his clearance level.”

“So his feelings are hurt,” Harry summed up. “And he’d rather believe that I was working outside of my orders.”

“Well, technically he’s right,” Maria shrugged.

“Yes, but no one knows that except you, Hermione, Ron, Till… Draco…” Harry trailed off. “Tell me the truth, Maria, how fucked am I?”

“We’ll get you sorted,” Maria promised. “I gave my word to Ron, and I intend to keep it. Focus on your cursed friend, leave the internal investigations to Hermione, Ron, and I. Malfoy, thankfully, like Till, doesn’t come with witnesses. I’ll brief them separately on their official story, should they be asked if they’ve ever come into contact with the Winchesters before.”

“Thanks, Maria,” Harry said. ““If I lose my job, do you think Ron would let me work at Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes?”

“No,” Maria answered in a deadpan. “You’re not funny.”

*

Charlie woke up an indeterminate time later to a bell ringing beside her bed. It was just hanging there, in mid-air, ringing. Charlie reached out and poked it, and it morphed into a little silver robot that saluted her and then dropped out of the air and scurried out of the room through the crack under the door.

The light in the room had shifted, indicating that it had been, at the very least, a few hours since she’d lost consciousness. Charlie untangled herself from the covers and pulled the only clean change of clothes she had from her small bag. The sleep had been wonderful, but she felt gross after being awake for over 24 hours, dealing with that horrendous dark magic book, and not having a chance to even change her underwear in all that time.

She peered into the hall, saw that the coast was clear, and darted into the bathroom without anyone seeing her without pants. Thankfully, there was a towel hanging on the rack inside the bathroom under a sticky note that said “Clean Towel for Charlie!”

The writing wasn’t Kevin’s, and the only reason Charlie knew this, was because there was a little animation of a stick-man at the bottom waving enthusiastically at her - so, she was guessing one of the two wizard boys that Kevin lived with had made the note.

Charlie showered, and dressed in her clean clothes. There was a hair dryer by the sink that had a sticky note that said “I work by voice command! (Low, Medium, High)” on it, and that was a little too tempting to NOT try, so Charlie found herself taking the time to blow-dry her hair, which she usually never bothered to do.

When she was ready, she figured she might as well see if Kevin was in the study first. The door was open, but when Charlie entered the room, it was empty. Still, it was too tempting to poke around a little - so Charlie went up to the windows first, and looked out onto the street. It was sunset - and she watched one of the neighbours come home from work. Wondering if they could see the house, Charlie tapped on the glass, but the neighbour didn’t look up. It didn’t really prove anything.

Charlie turned and glanced at the bookshelf next, reading the titles quickly. If she actually picked up a book, she knew she’d get completely distracted - and then be disappointed later to not have seen what else was on the shelf.

Then there was movement on the wall that caught her eyes, and she glanced over to see three framed portraits hanging underneath the title “The Noble House of Lupin and Friends” with a dusty sticky note saying “and Attractive” between Noble and House. Charlie smiled and looked at the pictures, one was obviously Kevin, waving awkwardly, and looking a little pale. The others were his housemates. Teddy was easy to pick out, now that Charlie knew he was a shapeshifter - his hair kept moving between turquoise, brown, and pink, like he couldn’t decide. The other had to be Nate. He had striking blue eyes and hair almost as dark as Kevin’s.

A throat cleared in the doorway, and Charlie jumped.

“Sorry,” the guy said. “Believe it or not, I was trying to avoid that. I should have stomped down the hall, I guess.”

He was young, tall, and lanky, and had red-hair just like Charlie’s, really, it was as though she had a long lost brother.

“Teddy?” Charlie guessed, studying his face, and then turning back to the photo on the wall. She could see it, she thought, in the shape of his face and eyes.

“Correct,” Teddy smiled. “It’s nice to meet you, Charlie - I’m glad you’re up. I just spent twenty minutes lecturing Kevin for not taking your size into account when he made your tea. I was afraid Jeeves wouldn’t be able to wake you, and you’d sleep straight through to morning. There’s a reason I do the drugging in this family!”

Charlie laughed. “Jeeves?”

“Little robot man?” Teddy held out his thumb and finger to indicate the size of the tiny silver robot. “Nate made him for me - He’s the cutest.”

“The robot or Nate?” Charlie teased.

Teddy’s grin was blinding.

“Come on then, you can judge for yourself,” Teddy motioned her out of the room. “He and Kev are just putting the finishing touches on supper. Did Kev give you a proper tour of the house earlier?”

“No, he said you would,” Charlie replied.

Teddy did a little excited hop.

“After we eat then!” Teddy smiled. “It’s a historical house, you know? I mean - if it weren’t under the fidelius, it’d have the a plaque and everything. It was in the Black Family for generations - now Draco Malfoy and I are the only ones left in the line, though we don’t have the name, obviously - I’m a Lupin through and through, and he’s what he is - but his Mum was a Black and so was my Gran, before they married their husbands. But I got the House, not him, because Sirius left it to Harry, and Harry gave it to me, because I’m his godson, and also Sirius and my dad used to be a thing, before Sirius died and Dad met Mum… so Harry figured if Sirius had known about me, he’d’ve given ME the house, because I’d kinda be his kid too, he’d have loved me so much - that’s what Harry says anyhow, because he knows Sirius and my Dad loved each other madly before Sirius was framed for murder and treachery and sent to Azkaban for twelve years, and-”

“Teddy!” a voice cut in, as they walked into the kitchen, and Charlie transferred her wide-eyed stare to a shorter blue-eyed boy. “You know I love you, and it’s wonderful how much you take pride in your house  - but maybe you should let Charlie sit and eat something, before you confuse her with over thirty years of frankly confusing family history.”

“Right, sorry,” Teddy said sheepishly. “Charlie, this is my platonic life-partner, Nate.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Charlie greeted.

“The pleasure is all mine,” Nate returned. And they sat down to eat.

“Charlie’s cool, Teddy,” Kevin suddenly said. “Stop worrying about it.”

Charlie looked up quizzically across the table at Teddy, who was looking a little sheepish. Then, very slowly, starting at the roots, his hair started to turn brown, his face also shifted, just a little, and his eyes shifted from blue to brown. It was a subtle shift over all, but yet he looked like a completely different person.

It was only when Teddy smiled nervously at Charlie that she realized she was staring.

“That’s AMAZING,” Charlie declared honestly. And as soon as the words left her mouth, streaks of black and turquoise shot through Teddy’s hair as he smiled. “Cool!”

“See,” Kevin muttered, but he was smiling.

“How do you choose what to look like?” Charlie asked.

“People are more comfortable with strangers that look like them,” Teddy shrugged.

“Huh,” Charlie muttered.

“I wasn’t trying to fool you,” Teddy pressed. “It’s just habit. If I want someone to like me, I change to look like them. If I don’t want to be noticed, I change like this,” The turquoise suddenly left Teddy’s hair, and it turned mousy brown and dull, all his features dulled as well, and he seemed to shrink in his seat. Even Charlie’s eyes started to drift away from him.

“Super cool,” Charlie replied, and watched as Teddy smiled and he returned to looking - well, like himself, Charlie supposed. “You could be a spy or something.”

“That’s what my mum did,” Teddy smiled, his hair getting streaks of pink throughout.

“And what do you do for a living?” Charlie asked.

“I’m studying to be a healer - uh, a doctor, but um…” Teddy looked at Kevin a little desperately.

“Neuroscience,” Kevin offered.

“No, there was another word,” Teddy argued.

“Psychiatry,” Nate answered.

“Yes!”

“Oh, cool. Do Wizards not have a name for that?” Charlie asked.

“We just call it Mind Healing,” Teddy shrugged. “We’re not very imaginative, I suppose.”

Charlie laughed at that, because here was a boy with turquoise hair, living in a magic house, with a miniature robot butler, claiming that he didn’t have any imagination. Teddy beamed, though he looked confused, and a few streaks of red shot through his hair again.

“After dinner, I’ll show you the computer shed, Charlie,” Kevin offered. “I just upgraded all the systems, but I’d love your feedback. Feel free to hack whatever you need, by the way - because the house is under a fidelius, we discovered that they can’t actually trace the IP address.”

Charlie smiled. “Why didn’t you lead with that this afternoon?”

“Aww, does this mean you aren’t interested in a full house tour?” Teddy pouted. “I never get to show off, except when Nate gets wasted and forgets not to bring his muggle boys back here...”

“Oh my god,” Nate muttered. “Every time that’s happened it’s been your idea, you wanker. And Charlie won’t be going on a tour of the house, _or_ the shed, until she eats. She’s had a very rough time of it and we are nothing if not considerate and caring hosts!”

“Yes, sorry, dear,” Teddy replied, a lock of hair suddenly appearing just so that it could hide his face when he looked down at his plate, chastised, his hair turning all dull and sad looking.

“That’s blatant emotional manipulation, Ted, and I won’t stand for it,” Nate declared.

Teddy looked up with a smile and a wink, the lock of hair shifting and disappearing back into his regular shaggy style, and the different colourful streaks returning.

“It’s like living with a married couple,” Kevin told Charlie in a faux whisper. “Or the Winchesters.”

Charlie laughed. Even before the tour of the whole magic house and computer shed, she already liked it there.


	7. Chapter 7

Sam hefted his bag over his shoulder and stuffed his passport back in his pocket. Telling Customs that he was in the UK for ‘pleasure’ just added insult to injury. Castiel was a silent presence beside him. They hadn’t spoken much on the plane. Sam grit his teeth as they exited the secure area, wondering if Harry would dain to come himself or send one of his lackeys. Sam couldn’t decide which one he’d prefer. On the one hand, Harry was possibly the last person he wanted to see, on the other hand, a little respect would be nice.

Sam scanned the crowd as he walked forward. It seemed like most people were waiting for a flight out of Asia - which, was one of many reasons why Sam was able to immediately spot the person sent to meet them.

Draco’s blond hair and fair complexion stood out like a beacon in the crowd, but it was the sign he held that had Sam biting back a small smile. Goddamn it, Sam was angry, not amused.

“Angelus & Venator,” Sam read, as he walked up him. “Cute.”

Draco smirked as he lowered the sign, like he knew Sam was amused behind his scowl, which really just made him angry again.

“Sam, Castiel,” Draco greeted. “I hear you’ve been getting into trouble.”

“You going to lecture me too?” Sam bit out, glaring at the wizard.

Draco took a deep breath and shook  his head.

“No, I’m going to do something far more foolish,” he offered. “Sam, would you like to stay with me at the manor?”

Sam blinked. “What?”

“It occurred to me that you might be feeling some measure of betrayal towards both Mr. Tran and Granger - and by extension Potter,” Draco explained. He glanced around quickly, before crushing the large sign he had been holding into a square the size of a scrabble piece and slipping it in his pocket. “Since I had nothing to do with their plans, I reached out to Potter and offered that I might house you and Castiel for the duration of your stay in the UK. That way, you avoid socializing with those involved in this turn of events. And, should you also not particularly want to spend time with me - well, the manor is large enough that I could simply give you a wing and we need never interact.”

“If you’re not involved, how do you know what’s happening?” Sam asked. 

“I wasn’t involved with the initial decision to betray your confidence,” Draco said. “I was, however, consulted after that. But the arrivals gate at Heathrow is hardly the place to speak of such matters. If you’re taking me up on my offer of hospitality, we can discuss anything you like at my home.”

Sam turned to Castiel. Castiel gave him an unimpressed look.

“Yeah, fine,” Sam agreed, turning back to Draco. “But I’m renting a car and we’re driving there. I’m not going to be stranded in the middle of goddamn Wiltshire without a car.”

“It’s your choice,” Draco said, but beside Sam, Castiel groaned.

“What?” Sam barked.

“I am not looking forward to being confined into yet another metal transport device for hours on end while you think overly loudly about how I have disappointed you,” Castiel answered, his impassive face resolving into a glare.

“No one asked you to-”

“I’m sure you’re welcome to stay at the Potter’s,” Draco interrupted. “If you would like some time apart.” 

“Where is Charlie Bradbury staying?” Castiel asked. Sam glared at him.

“Charlie is staying with Kevin Tran and Teddy Lupin,” Draco replied. “Potter can get in touch, if you want the address.”

“No need,” Castiel said, taking the bag off his shoulder and tossing it at Sam’s feet. “The Fidelius charm does not affect me; I’m an Angel of the Lord. I’ll take the bus.”

With that, Castiel strode away. Draco raised his eyebrows but thankfully made no comment.

“You wouldn’t happen to have a charmed communication mirror, would you?” Draco asked.

Sam reached into his pocket and slammed it into Draco’s hand, then picked up the bag Castiel had dropped and slung it over his other shoulder.

“He doesn’t need his things?” Draco gestured to the bag.

“Cas doesn’t have things,” Sam replied. “These are Dean’s.”

“Right,” Draco nodded. “Come on then.”

And then Draco was weaving through the crowd, leading Sam towards - somewhere, Sam didn’t even care anymore.

While he walked, Draco flipped open the magic mirror and spoke Harry’s full name into it. 

“Malfoy?” Sam could make out Harry answering. “How did you-”

“It’s Sam’s,” Draco replied. “Just thought I’d let you know that Castiel declined my offer of hospitality and has decided he’d rather stay with Charlie.”

“...Sam?” 

“He’s with me. We’re about to secure Muggle transport,” Draco replied. 

Sam thought maybe Harry laughed, because Draco scowled.

“It will hardly be the first time, Potter,” he replied, and then snapped the mirror closed, and handed it sideways towards Sam. “Unbelievable, as though he doesn’t know full well my son has an interest.”

Draco led them up to a car rental counter and, to Sam’s slight surprise, did all the talking - and was on some sort of frequent customer points program. The customer service rep all but fawned over Draco, making sure his every desire was satisfied as they handed over the keys. Sam couldn’t help but stare. Draco smiled as he walked away, but then it dropped off his face once the rep couldn’t see them anymore. Instead, Draco shot Sam a dark look.

“Don’t tell me you think I’m incapable of driving a car as well,” Draco muttered glaring at Sam. “You’ve met my son - come to think of it, you are quite possibly entirely to blame for his obsession with these muggle contraptions. I’ll have you know I’ve had to sit through every episode of Top Gear now and-”

“D-Did you just rent a Benz?” Sam stuttered.

“Well, I’m hardly going to stuff all six foot five inches of you into a fucking Fiat, now am I?” Draco replied. “Not to mention the blow it would be to my self-esteem as a respectable host.”

Sam couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him. The bubble of amusement in his chest that had sprung to life at the sign of Draco’s stupid sign at the airport now was large enough to crack through the misery that Sam had been feeling for the past few days… or perhaps it was more like weeks and months, maybe even years.

Draco shook his head as though Sam were disappointing him, but Sam could see the corner of his lips twitching. 

“I’ll drive us away from the airport, because it’s a nightmare,” Draco announced as they got to the parking garage. “But then you can take a turn in the countryside - drive away some of those anger issues, yeah?”

Sam took a deep breath in and let it out slowly, wondering if he should be insulted. Instead he just felt tired and grateful.

“Yeah,” Sam agreed. 

Draco hit the button on the car fob, and a nearby slick black car flashed it’s lights in greeting. It was, aside from the Impala, one of the more beautiful cars Sam had ever seen. Draco matched it perfectly, in his tailored black suit, while Sam felt like kind of a slob in comparison. He ran his hand along the frame anyway, because these were the sorts of cars that you couldn’t reliably steal - too many security features, too attention grabbing.

“We’ll get pulled over in this,” Sam said, echoing words from his childhood lessons on how to find cars. 

“I’m a wizard,” Draco replied.

They got into the car and both took the time to adjust the seats to their liking. Draco fiddled with the mirrors for a moment, and then they set off. The engine running so smooth under the hood that Sam wasn’t even sure it was there and the car wasn’t just running on air, or magic, or the power of Sam’s miserable life.

“Now then,” Draco said, once he’d successfully navigated out of the parking garage and onto a freeway of some sort. “Why don’t you tell me about this horrible Mark of Cain business from your perspective. We have the time and I’m a captive audience. And I promise you that anything you’ve done that Saint Potter and his lot find offensive, it will be nothing in comparison to the crimes I committed before the age of seventeen. So you need not fear any judgement on my end.”

“I probably shouldn’t find that comforting,” Sam mused.

“Nonsense, of course you should,” Draco argued. Then he held up his left hand in a loose fist, and released his index finger upward. “Let’s see, working with a dark witch or wizard, I’ve done that. Using dark magic,” another finger joined the first. “Hiding your actions from those, who either through concern or malice, would seek to stop you,” the ring finger went up. “What else… oh yes, doing it all because you’re trying to save or serve the ones you love,” the pinky finger went up. “Am I missing something?” Draco wiggled his thumb. “Oh yes, there’s the fact that the spell would have made you a murderer… or whomever did the spell, I suppose. But then, much like me, you were prevented from going through with it yourself.”

“Wait, what?” Sam said, the final fact registering. “You know the spell? The one in the Book?”

“Your Charlie is quite intelligent,” Draco replied, resting his hand back down on the wheel. “She cracked the code this morning.”

“You… you’ve read the spell,” Sam repeated. “You can do it?”

“No,” Draco replied. “I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?” Sam asked, already expecting the answer.

“It would require me to kill my wife or son,” Draco replied sternly. “So, both.”

“Fine, then we’ll get someone else to do it-”

“Oh, so you’re just fine with another wizard or witch murdering someone they love, as long as you don’t know the victim personally?” Draco countered. “Very interesting morality you have, Sam - you’d have made a good Slytherin.”

“Shut-up,” Sam commanded. He wasn’t sure if it was anger of shame that filled him, maybe it was just shock that Draco was right. 

Draco shut-up. They drove in silence for the next mile.

“I apologize,” Draco finally spoke. “I understand completely, Sam, and I shouldn’t have said that. The truth of the matter is that we wouldn’t be allowed, now, to use the spell, even if we found a witch or wizard who was in love with the most vile human deserving of death. Moreover, there’s a warning, in the book, about destroying the Mark. It doesn’t seem advisable.”

Sam furrowed his brow, first at the fact that Draco apologized, even though he’d been right, and then at the thought that the spell came with a warning. 

“What’s the warning?” Sam asked.

“It’s vague,” Draco shook his head. “It does, however, imply that the Mark has some sort of ongoing purpose in the world. What that purpose is, I don’t know.”

“To kill my brother?” Sam offered.

“Now you’ve got the ego of a Slytherin too,” Draco smiled. 

Sam gave him an unimpressed look and Draco just smiled wider. Sam rolled his eyes, finally understanding that there really was a weird level of humanity where Dean and Draco could be friends.

“We’ll sort it out, Sam,” Draco promised. “Now, why don’t you start at the beginning…”

*

“Wait, THE Katja? Of Hansel and Gretel fame?” Draco asked, as they walked up to the manor. The sun had set during Sam’s turn at the wheel, and he was starting to feel the weight of the day - or maybe it was two days now - but he smiled at Draco’s incredulous expression. “Just how many ancient dark witches do you two come across in a year?”

“We’ve had an uptick,” Sam replied. 

Draco muttered something under his breath. The front door glided open for them and Sam followed Draco into the house. He set his bags down in the hall at Draco’s request.

The last time he had been here, Draco had been living in the small coach house at the front of the property. The manor itself had been a closed-off empty thing. It had felt more like a museum than a home. Now, even though it was just as grand and opulent as before, there was a warmth that hadn’t been there before. Sam figured it had something to do with the child-sized shoes in the hall, the smell of food cooking, and the woman who stepped into the foyer in front of them with a large welcoming smile on her face.

“Sam,” Astoria exclaimed, walking towards him. “Welcome, I do hope you had a tolerable flight.” She clasped his hands in hers and leant forward, kissing him on both cheeks, while Sam fumbled awkwardly to reciprocate the gesture.

“Astoria, hi,” Sam replied, as she pulled back from the final cheek kiss. She didn’t let go of his hands, however.

“I’m so sorry to hear of your brother’s illness,” she said sincerely. “I do hope you’ll let us know if there’s anything we can do to help.”

“I-” Sam glanced at Draco, who was smiling at his wife. “Uh, Thanks.”

“Come now, you must be hungry.”

Sam followed Astoria down a hallway, they passed the entrance into a grand dining room, but both Astoria and Draco carried on without glancing at it, so Sam assumed it must only be used when they had more company than just one person. Instead, they entered a large kitchen, with dark ebony cabinets and white marble countertops. In a rounded alcove with floor to ceiling windows, sat a round table only large enough for six at most. Astoria gestured for him to sit down, and then she went over to the oven and removed what looked to be a roast.

The chairs that surrounded the table, though study and well made, were scuffed and scratched in places - showing the wood underneath rather than the dark finish. Sam felt himself relaxing, inexplicably, at the sight. Sam hadn’t realized how out of place he had been feeling up until that point.

“Wine?” Draco asked, reaching into a cabinet and removing a wine glass.

“Uh-” Sam started.

“Beer?” Draco guessed.

“That’d be great, yeah,” Sam replied. Draco was already pulling down a tall glass. Sam looked to see that there were only three place settings at the table. “Where’s the little guy?” Sam asked.

Both Astoria and Draco smiled. 

“School, Sam,” Draco answered. “Hogwarts. It’s his first year.”

“What?” Sam reeled. “No! He can’t be- He’s only-”

“Four?” Draco laughed. “Sam, it’s been a few years since you saw him last. He’s eleven.”

“Wow,” Sam muttered. “I knew it had been… man, I feel old.”

“I know the feeling,” Astoria replied. She stopped slicing the roast for a minute and went over to a cupboard instead, pulling down a picture that had been tacked there. She brought it to Sam. “There he is now. He sent that just last week, when I told him that he’d been away so long that I’d forgotten what he looked like.”

Sam looked down at the picture and saw a blond boy with a bright smile, his cheeks rosy in the sunlight. He was standing next to a patch of daffodils by a lake, with his arm thrown over a dark-haired boy, who had a few freckles across his nose and bright green eyes. 

“Is that-”

“Potter’s boy, Albus, yes,” Draco replied. “They’ve become friends.”

“We think it was Rose Weasley who took the picture,” Astoria added with a beaming smile. “But Scorpius didn’t say - and I haven’t asked.”

Sam smiled in return and looked up at Draco as he set Sam’s beer down on the table in front of him. 

“That’s great,” Sam said, handing the picture back. “It’s what you wanted, right?”

“Very much so,” Draco nodded. 

“He looks just like you,” Sam said. Astoria patted Draco’s shoulder as she passed him to put the picture back where it belonged.

“Just my hair, Merlin help him,” Draco replied, running a hand through his thinning blond hair. “He has his mother’s eyes.” 

“Do you want to see a picture of Dean when he was fourteen?” Sam found himself asking, as Astoria brought over the food and took a seat. “I took some when he was under that age spell - they’re hilarious.” Sam reached into his pocket for his phone, pulling it out. “Uh, will this work in here?”

“It won’t have service, but it will function otherwise,” Draco replied. “I’m working on some warding to better suit electronics, but it’s not quite there yet.” At Sam’s look, Draco added. “Scorpius has discovered video games.”

“Wait a moment,” Astoria spoke up. “Did you say Dean was under an age spell?”

“Yeah,” Sam replied, waiting for his phone to boot up.

“Sam was just telling me about this when we got home, Astoria,” Draco explained. “Apparently he and his brother had a run in with the dark witch Katja.”

“Yeah,” Sam confirmed, absentmindedly, as he pulled up his photos and thumbing through them quickly. “We killed her.” He found the pictures, they were a little dark and blurry, taken in the car while Sam was also trying to drive.  He looked up to hand the phone to one of the Malfoys, and found that Astoria and Draco were having some sort of silent conversation, that Draco cut off with an indecipherable look and a false smile to Sam as he took the phone. Sam looked to Astoria, only to have her also give him a placating smile, and then shift her focus to helping herself to the potatoes.

“Swipe your finger across the screen to the left to get to the next one. There’s only three pictures of him,” Sam instructed. Draco nodded. Sam knew the photos off by heart. The first was fourteen year-old Dean looking determinedly forward, as though he could will the car to drive faster with his mind. The second was Dean glaring at the lens. The third photo was almost a completely wasted shot, mostly obscured by Dean’s arm as he reached for Sam’s phone, but Sam liked it just for glimpse of the freckles across his nose, far more prominent in youth than they were as an adult.

Draco smiled at the pictures, then paused and frowned at them. Sam was just about to ask if he had scrolled too far and found an ugly case photo, when Astoria broke the silence.

“Well don’t hog the pictures, Draco,” Astoria chastised. “Let me see too.”

That was enough for Draco’s smile to return as he passed the phone to his wife. As she looked at them, Draco turned to Sam.

“I thought the...” Draco began, then hesitated and glanced at Astoria, “...wound… was on his right arm.”

Sam blinked at the subject change, but nodded.

“It’s not in the photo,” Draco clarified.

“Yeah, he didn’t have it when he was fourteen, so…” Sam shrugged. “We considered leaving him that way, but it didn’t work out.”

“Interesting,” Draco replied, brow still furrowed. “Was this before or after-”

“Should I be privy to this conversation, dear?” Astoria interrupted.

“No, love, my apologies,” Draco replied, and his focus shifted immediately back to eating his meal.

“Don’t worry,” Astoria assured Sam. “You two can speak in his study after supper.” She handed back his phone then and smiled. “They’re amusing pictures. He doesn’t look like he enjoyed being young that much though.”

Sam laughed. “Yeah, once is enough for some things, I guess.”

“Do you remember him much at that age?” Astoria asked.

“No,” Sam shook his head, powering down his useless phone again to preserve the battery. “I don’t think I remember him ever being that small. He was always so much bigger than me, until I was about sixteen or seventeen, anyway - then he got short.” Astoria and Draco both chuckled, but seemed to expect Sam to say more, so Sam continued. “I was only ten when he was fourteen in any case, so it’s not like my memory is all that great - also, that was when Dean had started hunting more often with Dad - so I saw less of him than usual. I was old enough to get by on my own, so there was no reason for Dad to leave Dean behind anymore.” 

It felt good to talk about Dean. Dean as Sam remembered him, not as he was now. Dean as a young Hunter, cutting his teeth on salt-and-burns, not as hardened snarling near-demon who had slaughtered an entire family tree in one evening.

“It must have been hard for you,” Astoria said gently, “to be left home alone when you knew your father and brother were in danger.”

Sam felt the familiar wash of emotion at the memory, it wasn’t as far removed from his present circumstances as he would like.

“Yes, it is hard,” Sam replied.

“Why don’t you finish telling me about Katja,” Draco said into the silence that followed. “You never actually explained how it was that Dean became bespelled.”

Sam launched into the story, picking up the story from the beginning, for Astoria’s benefit. Sam kept the more gruesome details of her defeat light, picking up the sense that Draco was trying to avoid speaking about unpleasant things at the dinner table. Instead, Sam concentrated on the more funny or optimistic aspects of the story - Dean’s sudden youth, Tina’s shot at a new life. 

When the story was over, Astoria adeptly steered the conversation into speculation about Scorpius’ teen years might be like, and whether it really was wise for him to befriend a Potter - though it was all said in a way where Sam knew the Malfoys were joking, and both actually pleased and proud of their son for the friends he was making.

*

Once dinner was over, Draco pulled Sam into his study, where Sam recounted the killing of Cain and the failure of getting an answer out of Metatron, who had been their last hope for a solution outside of the Book of the Damned.

It was clear Sam was exhausted, both physically from his travels, and mentally from Draco prying as much information as he could from him. Draco showed Sam to the guest room they had prepared for him. The fact that Sam made no protest to stay up and discuss Dean further was just proof that the man desperately needed to sleep. Draco would have felt like a poor host for keeping him awake as long as he had, only he knew full well that lives hung in the balance and the sooner these problems were solved, the better it would be for everyone.

Once Sam was abed, and Draco had made sure to bid Astoria a proper goodnight, Draco returned to his study to go over his notes. He had notes from Sam’s recollections, the translations from the Book of the Damned, and also Kevin’s notes on the angel tablet. 

He read over Kevin’s translations about Lucifer. They were disjointed at best, but there was some information there. There were no details about his actual fall from God’s favour though or the events that led him to become imprisoned, besides that it occurred after giving Cain the Mark. 

Kevin, however, had a source who had been in the Garden - an angel. Draco wondered if it was perhaps Castiel, but Kevin had said that his source hadn’t been present at the time the Mark was given to Cain, only before. This seemed very odd, as Draco had no idea why an angel would be present for one event and not the other, but then present years later to answer questions about it.

Taking out a piece of writing paper, Draco resolved to send a letter to Kevin and request more information, or perhaps access to his source, if possible. If it were Castiel, that should be easy enough, as Draco could just stop into Grimmauld place and conduct an interview himself. Though, Draco realized that if the source were Castiel, then he would more than likely have volunteered to come with Sam and impart what information he had as well. 

Draco signed his request, folded it neatly, and tucked it into an envelope. He wrote Kevin’s name on the outside and then flipped the envelope over, while reaching for his red wax and the Malfoy seal. It was, perhaps, an old fashioned exercise these days, and would seem especially so to someone as young as Kevin Tran - but Draco liked the formality of the tradition. It also had the benefit of making it easier to tell if letters had been tampered with on their journeys. He pressed the seal into the warm wax firmly, and lifted it to show the perfect peacock motif left behind. Draco set the letter to one side to send out in the morning. He wondered if Kevin would write him back. If he did, he expected it would be on some muggle stationary with less care to tradition. Draco found himself slightly disappointed at the thought; it was understandable, however. Although Kevin lived in the Noble and Ancient House of Black, he was hardly a Black. Draco had never actually seen the Black Family’s Mark. He wondered if Teddy even still had the seal. Perhaps it was lost somewhere to the ravages of time, much like the Black family itself. Still, Draco wondered what it looked like.

With the thought, Draco went to the Malfoy Family Library. He knew somewhere there was a compendium of old letters from when his father and mother were negotiating the wedding preparations between the two families. Perhaps the Mark of the Black Family had been preserved along with them, or, better yet, perhaps there was a history of family seals that might house the Black Seal along with many other interesting family marks throughout history. Draco opened the library index and tried to think of what category he should be looking under. Was it under family histories, or perhaps under M for Mark...or, it could very well be S for Seal…

Draco stopped, straightened, and took a deep breath.

“It’s a game of whispers,” he said to the empty room. 

The amount of translation involved, the sheer number of millennia between its creation and now. Civilizations had risen and fallen. Languages had risen and fallen… it was all whispers down the alley.

Draco ran back to his study, his interest in family history forgotten. He shuffled through his papers until he found Kevin’s translation of the Word of God. 

_ Lucifer is a Seal of Destruction. Lucifer is the Lightbringer. _

He then turned to the translation from the Book of the Damned.

_ Beware the fate of the marks undone for it consumes all. _

And then he turned to his own jotted notes from the description Kevin had given them of the Mark’s origins.

_ Scar _ _ Mark of battle before Creation. Battle against ?? _

Draco felt, for the first time, that an understanding might be in his grasp. If the Mark wasn’t a mark - not a scar nor a symbol - but a seal in the sense that one seals an envelope… then that meant there really was a purpose - to keep the envelope closed. And in following the spell, you would remove the mark from all who had it - unsealing the envelope completely… unleashing whatever fate was inside, which would, apparently ‘consume’ all. Draco still wasn’t sure what that meant, but it certainly didn’t sound like a good thing. 

More importantly though, if the Mark came about from some battle, and it sealed something away, it only made sense that whatever was sealed away was the enemy - after all, they were doing the same with Dean now, weren’t they? They can’t kill him, so the only solution is to imprison him indefinitely. 

But what was sealed away? What existed before Creation besides God?


	8. Chapter 8

“Astoria? Love? Astoria? Wake up, please. Astoria?”

Astoria blinked her eyes open and stared up at her husband who was looming over her while holding a bible. 

“What…”

“Oh good, you’re awake. I need to run something by you…” Draco said, and then opened the book in his hands. “Listen, listen… bible starts at Creation, right? So we don’t know what was before - but the…”

Astoria groaned, and glanced at the clock. It was two in the morning. It was two in the morning, and her brilliant husband had apparently grown tired of talking to the walls of his study. She remembered, back in school - how she’d sometimes fall asleep to the sounds of him pacing the common room, muttering nonsense to Crabbe and Goyle. At the time, she had thought it an amusing quirk of his character and admirable sign of his intelligence. Now, she wondered just how his friends had perfected the ability to hum their agreement to his sentences without actually bothering to listen - because, quite frankly, the habit wasn’t amusing or admirable, it was both mad and maddening.

“...and then the third verse says that God divided the Light from the Dark. Now, the fourth verse says this created the day and the night, but what if that’s not the case at all. What if that was written because whomever wrote this book couldn’t fathom what else it might possibly have meant, so-”

“Draco, my love,” Astoria tried to interrupt. “Is this work related? Please tell me this is work related and you haven’t suddenly found religion…”

“Listen, Astoria - we think of darkness as the absence of light, but what if it’s the other way around?!” Draco finished, clapping the bible closed again. 

“Okay,” Astoria said. “Okay, what does that mean then?”

“Lucifer is called the Lightbringer,” Draco finished.

“So...it’s not God you’ve found, but Satan?” Astoria furrowed her brow.

“No, are you even listening?” Draco sighed. “This is about my project at work. I need to know what Lucifer did in the battle before creation and whether or not-”

“Oh, thank Merlin, work-related nonsense,” Astoria said, cutting Draco off. “Then I’m happy to tell you, my love, that you are an Unspeakable and therefore cannot speak to me about this at all. So, I’m going to go back to sleep, and you’re going to go wake up Sam Winchester if you really need to talk to someone, and we’ll just both forget this ever happened… for the sake of our marriage.”

“Right,” Draco said, blinking at her in the dark. “You…. you told me to stop doing this. I… err…”

“You got excited and forgot,” Astoria nodded. “It’s only been nearly fourteen years, Draco. Now, please go be brilliant someplace else. I have work in the morning.”

“Right, my apologies. Goodnight, dear,” Draco said, and leaned over and kissed her. 

“Goodnight,” Astoria replied. “Make sure you also get some sleep. It sounds like you have a lot to do in the morning as well.”

Draco nodded, but was already moving towards the door, not the bed. 

“Careful waking a Hunter,” Astoria called after him. “Best not to loom over him like you did with me.”

“Good thinking,” Draco called back, and then disappeared into the hall.

Astoria hoped that she still had a husband in the morning, as annoying as he was.

*

Sam woke up at the quiet knock on a door. He didn’t move.  He wasn’t home, that was obvious immediately, so he carefully, in a sleepy movement, moved his hand under the pillow - there was nothing there. Sam’s heart rate increased.

“Sam?” 

Draco Malfoy’s house. Sam relaxed.

“Yeah?” He called, reaching over and turning on the bedside light. The door opened and Draco poked his blond head into the dark room first, saw Sam was awake, and then came in completely and shut the door.

“I have a question,” Draco explained. “You’ve seen Lucifer’s true form, correct?”

Sam’s thoughts came to a halt and he blinked at the wizard.

“In the cage - did you see his true form?” Draco pressed. “I thought you might have, given that he didn’t have a body and-”

“Y-yeah, yes,” Sam cut Draco off. “He used to… uh… yes, yes, I’ve seen it. Glimpses, before… before.”

“Can you remember the details?” Draco sat down on the bed by Sam’s hip. “Could you see all of him? Can you remember exactly what he looked like?”

“I don’t… I don’t think about it,” Sam tried to explain. “I know it happened, but I don’t… it’s like… knowing what film is playing in the theatre, knowing what happens, but not actually going in to see it.”

“Could you though?” Draco pressed. “Could you remember the details?”

Sam swallowed, his heart thudding in his chest at the idea.

“Will it help Dean?” Sam asked.

“Yes,” Draco replied, steadily.

Sam nodded and closed his eyes. He wondered if just the memory would be enough to burn his eyes out of their sockets. Lucifer used to love doing that - until there came a point where things changed. Thinking about it now, Sam realized that it was probably when Castiel managed to get Sam’s body out of the cage - Sam no longer had eyes to burn out at that point, and Lucifer’s games evolved. Sam supposed that he should have been thankful that Michael never joined in with Sam’s torture - but, it was hard to be thankful when he never did anything to ease Sam’s suffering either. Instead he just watched.

Sam shook his head and tried to focus. Lucifer was a being of pure light, great and beautiful - one of the most beautiful things that Sam had ever seen - and terrifying, terrifying beyond anything Sam could have possibly imagined. There was only one spot on Lucifer’s true form that hadn’t been brilliantly bright - Sam’s eyes had always darted to it, before they burnt out of their sockets. He had asked about it once, and suffered as a result of his curiosity - though, he would have suffered anyway. Lucifer was particularly cruel after the question though, and Michael had laughed in his corner of the cage.

“Do you remember?” Draco’s voice penetrated Sam’s thoughts.

Sam nodded.

“It’s too dangerous for me to look myself, Sam, but I need to know… did he have any scars?” Draco asked.

“An imperfection,” Sam answered.

“Is that what he called it?”

“Michael,” Sam answered, shaking his head. “Lucifer called it… some enochian word. He said it was a battle honour and proof of God’s trust in him. Then they fought - Michael and Lucifer, I don’t know for how long. I was in a lot of pain.”

“Alright, you’re alright now,” Draco’s voice soothed. Sam still didn’t open his eyes. “What did the imperfection look like?”

Sam shook his head harder. He could remember Lucifer’s form, he could remember the dark mark on the otherwise blindingly bright body, but the light made it too difficult to see the spot that was dark, and Sam only ever caught glimpses, before his eyes burnt out or Lucifer knocked him down, or both happened at once.

“Okay, that’s alright,” Draco said. “Stop thinking of it. That will have to be enough to go on.”

Sam tried to calm his breathing - when had it sped up? He wiped the tears from his face, when had he cried? He shut his eyes tighter.

“Sam,” Draco said. “Open your eyes, stop now.”

Sam shook his head, and kept his eyes clamped close. They’d burn out. They’d burn out every time, and the pain was indescribable, unthinkable, and Sam would scream and-

“...fuck, fuck,” Draco was saying. “I’m a horrible person. Sam, can you hear me? Bloody hell, I’m an idiot.  _ Legilimens. _ ”

It felt as though something had hit him without physically hitting him. He was on the banks of a lake, he could hear water gently lapping at the shore. Somewhere next to him, a woman was humming softly, soothingly, and there were gentle fingers carding through his hair, gently coaxing him to lie back into the lush grass. The remembered terror Sam had felt ebbed away, little by little, as he lay there.

“Open your eyes, Sam,” Draco whispered. 

Sam blinked his eyes open to see a blue sky, dotted with fluffy clouds, a jet flew by, leaving a vapor trail. He didn’t understand whose fingers were in his hair, since Astoria was sitting on the grass beside him holding a book open, while absentmindedly humming, and cradling a baby to her chest.

“Where are you?” Sam asked.

“I’ve momentarily taken over the perception centres of your mind,” Draco explained, rather than answering. The fingers disappeared from his hair and instead he felt a cloth wipe gently at his face, his cheeks and temples first, then under his nose. “Rather than invading your privacy in an attempt to try to find a calming memory of your own, I’m showing you one of mine.”

“Okay,” Sam said. “It’s nice.”

“I’m glad,” Draco replied. “I’m going to bring you out of it now. Just focus on my voice, and hopefully this won’t be too disorienting.” Sam nodded, and Draco kept speaking. “You’re actually, as you may recall, in the guest room of Malfoy Manor.” The lush grass under Sam’s head, now felt like a pillow, the ground a comfortable mattress. “It’s the middle of the night, and I do apologize for waking you up. It’s raining a little. Can you hear it on the window?”

Astoria’s humming faded away, as did the water lapping on the shore, instead the water became tiny rain drops hitting a window in a gentle wind.

“It really is quite dark in here. I didn’t even let you turn on more than the bedside lamp when I came in and started asking far too much of you,” Draco continued. “I really do apologize, Sam. Once I withdraw from your mind, I’ll let you go back to sleep, and hopefully this darkness will be soothing to you… incapable of harming your eyes in any way….”

The sunny day started darkening. The fluffy clouds became a plain ceiling, though the view was obstructed by Draco leaning over Sam, staring him in the eye. Sam startled. Draco pulled back, and Sam felt some connection between them severe.

“How are you feeling?” Draco asked.

“Kind of embarrassed,” Sam admitted, levering himself up on his elbows.

“Well, that’s stupid,” Draco replied. “Now, physically, how are you feeling?”

“Fine,” Sam answered.

“Excellent,” Draco said. “Go back to sleep.”

“I’m not sure I’ll be able to…” Sam muttered.

Draco nodded, pulled open the nightstand drawer, and handed Sam a bottled potion from within it.

“Sleeping draught,” Draco explained. “Drink it. It’ll give you a dreamless sleep, I promise.” Draco stood from the bed. “I’ll see you in the morning, Sam.”

Sam stared at the potion and wiped his nose with his free hand. It came away with a little bit of blood on it, but Sam couldn’t feel anymore on its way.

“Did it help?” Sam asked, as Draco opened the door to leave.

“Yes, Sam,” Draco replied. “It told me that saving Dean is, at the very least, possible.”

Sam smiled, drank the potion, and was asleep before his head hit the pillow again.

*

It seemed Astoria had done well to warn Draco, because an indeterminate time later in the night - Draco flopped ungracefully into bed beside her and let out an anguished groan that roused her from sleep once again.

“What?” she asked.

“Fucking gave him an anxiety attack. Why am I so bad at everything?” Draco muttered, burying his face in his pillow as though he might smother himself. Astoria managed to lift a tired arm and pat him, probably not all that gently, on the head. 

“I’m sure you just startled him,” she muttered, and then fell asleep again before he could respond, or before she could realize that the words ‘anxiety attack’ implied a little bit more than just being unexpectedly woken up in the middle of the night.

*

Draco was woken by the doorbell. He was alone in the bed, so the part of his brain that wished to cling to sleep suggested that he just roll over and let Astoria deal with whomever had come calling. So, that’s what he did. He wasn’t sure what time it was, but the sun was mostly blocked by the heavy black curtains of the bedroom, so Draco, quite frankly, did not care - it was daytime, Draco was tired, so Draco would sleep.

“Draco?” Astoria said from the entrance to their ensuite bathroom. “Can you see who’s at the door?”

“But you’re already standing?” Draco replied, and perhaps he was whining, but he had a valid point.

“Draco,” Astoria stated, and Draco blinked his eyes open at the tone of her voice. She was standing wrapped in a towel with her hair dripping water down her should bare shoulders.

“Right, the door,” Draco sighed, and forced himself out of bed. He grabbed his robe on the way and hoped that he didn’t have pillow creases on his face and that his hair looked alright.

Castiel was standing in the foyer.

“It was open,” Castiel stated. “Where’s Sam?”

“Has something happened?” Draco asked. “Is Dean alright?””

“How should I know?” Castiel replied. “Where’s Sam? What happened here?”

“What?”

Castiel’s brow furrowed even more and Draco had the realization that he was, unwittingly perhaps, giving an Angel of the Lord a hard time. He quickly set aside his own confusion and tried to think of the best way to appease the angry celestial being in his foyer.

“Sam’s asleep. I don’t know what you think-”

“Cas?” came a deep voice from behind Draco. “What are you-”

“Sam,” Cas said, in what was very much a relieved sigh. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Sam replied, Draco’s confusion echoed in his voice.

Castiel nodded. “I was worried. Sorry for disturbing your sleep. I’ll go.”

“Wait, Cas,” Sam came forward. “Why were you worried?”

Draco couldn’t quite comprehend that this was the same stoic inhuman angel that he had met, however briefly, seven years earlier - because where that angel showed little emotion and little caring towards anyone, this angel had looked deeply concerned for Sam, and now looked vaguely guilty - as though Sam had just caught him sneaking into the kitchens at night.

“You must understand, usually, I afford you the utmost privacy,” Castiel replied. “The part of my - mind, I suppose you would say - that filters your memories, does not require my conscious attention.”

And then Draco understood. He should have remembered, they’d been through this once before -  _ he’d _ been through this once before.

“Oh,” Sam said.

“It was my fault,” Draco admitted. “I needed to know something about Lucifer’s true form. I apologize.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes at Draco, and Draco had to wonder whether honesty really was the best policy.

“Cool it, Cas,” Sam said, annoyed. “He needed to know in order to help, Dean - and he… made sure I was okay after.”

Castiel seemed to accept this. 

“I’ll return to London then,” Castiel announced. “Please do not try to remember horrible things again.”

“My pleasure,” Sam replied. “Wait, Cas - how did you get here?”

“I hitchhiked,” Castiel replied.

“You hitchhiked from London to…” Sam trailed off and shook his head, and smiled at Castiel. “Thanks, Cas. The fact you’d do that even when you’re mad at me-”

“I am not mad at you,” Castiel replied. “You’re mad at me.”

“Oh,” Sam said, now looking at confused. “I thought-”

“Even if I were mad at you,” Castiel continued. “Sam - we are already close to losing Dean, I refuse to lose you too.”

Draco was torn between wanting to back out of the room due to awkwardness, and also feeling fairly dumbfounded at how  _ human _ Castiel seemed, in comparison to all those years ago, and what it had felt like inside his mind - though in truth, Draco could remember only the overwhelming crushing weight of a multitude of simultaneous thought.

“We won’t lose Dean,” Sam promised. “Draco’s working on it - he says it’s possible, that’s why he had to ask those questions last night.”

Draco then had two sets of eyes on him, and found himself giving them a firm confident nod - though inside there was a mess of anxious energy building around his heart.

“Hey, Cas, I’m sorry about - I’m sorry for being mad at you,” Sam said, focusing his attention back on the angel. “You’re a good friend.”

Castiel smiled, actually smiled, and Draco decided that he definitely wanted to back out of the room awkwardly.

“Breakfast?” Draco asked instead. Both Cas and Sam turned to him in surprise. “Uh, Castiel? Would you like to stay for breakfast?”

“Food is disappointing now,” Castiel replied, and, true to his words, he looked notably disappointed.

“He can only taste the molecules,” Sam explained, as though it made any sense, and patted Castiel on the shoulder, then pulled him in and gave him one of those weird side-hugs that Americans seemed fond of.

“That’s a shame,” Astoria spoke as she entered the room. “Draco makes a lovely omelette.”

“I should go back to London, I did not leave a note,” Castiel frowned. 

“How about I go with you, we can go check in on Dean,” Sam suggested.

“Oh, well, Sam, you at least need to eat,” Astoria insisted. “You can send a letter to your friends in London by owl, Castiel. I’ll get you some parchment and a quill. Draco, get to the kitchen and start our omelettes.”

And with that, Astoria shooed Draco away, while also leaving the foyer herself, calling back that she’d only be a minute. Draco knew better than to dally when Astoria had set her mind on something, so he turned on his heel and walked to the kitchen, his bathrobe billowing behind him, where he had left it loose over his pajamas. He’d have to wear an apron, if he didn’t want to ruin the silk.

Sam entered the kitchen a few minutes later, without Castiel. Draco assumed Castiel must be writing his missive to London with the help of Astoria. Draco really owed his wife flowers, and his continued undying love, for her ability to adapt to strange visitors and events.

“Can you really save him?” Sam asked, almost too quietly to be heard over the sound of Draco beating the eggs together. 

“I’ll do my best,” Draco replied. “As will the rest of the Department of Mysteries.”

“I can’t believe you guys are helping us,” Sam laughed. “I mean… last time we were here, we couldn’t even tell anyone our last names for fear of being locked up for question-”

“Uh, technically you still can’t,” Draco interrupted. “They know you simply as Sam and Dean, Men of Letters agents. I mean, yes, it’s going to become quite apparent who you are if it hasn’t already - but the deal that Kevin and Hermione drafted is ironclad. You are to be released safely once the curse is lifted, in return, you relinquish the Book of the Damned, and the Wizarding World re-establishes an old and important alliance.”

“Oh,” Sam said.

“They know what they’re doing, Sam,” Draco smiled. “It wasn’t just to… to thwart you.”

Sam pulled one of the stools out from under the high island counter, and sat down, suddenly looking rather defeated.

“I just wanted to save him,” Sam admitted. “For once. Just for once, you know? I just… every time I’ve ever tried, I’ve failed - I guess I was stupid for thinking this time would be any different.”

“We will save him, Sam,” Draco promised again, trying to ignore the part of him that feared he was lying.

“ _ You _ will,” Sam corrected. “But the important thing is that he’s saved. My way, your way, as long as it gets done. I guess… I guess I just sort of lost sight of that. I spent so long trying to convince myself that the Book of the Damned was the only way, you know? That what I was doing was… he can’t stay the way he is, Draco, people will die… and Dean… he’d prefer anything to that, you know? He’d prefer anything to becoming… that.”

Draco nodded. It was all he could do as the cold lump of reality settled into his gut. Certainly, he knew the details of the problem, had been working on it for days, but, it was only now, listening to Sam talk, that he realized that he hadn’t seen Dean. He hadn’t seen how he had changed. In Draco’s mind, Dean had stayed in a solid state - still the man he knew from seven years before. He too had fallen into the trap of freezing someone in time.

Focusing on making omelettes rather than his own growing despair was really the only thing Draco could do.

*

Harry had just returned from visiting Dean in Azkaban, only to be summoned to Kingsley Shacklebolt’s office. He knew what it was about, and although ordinarily, he’d be dreading the meeting - under the current circumstance, he was thankful that it put off his next meeting a little longer. 

There would be an investigation - official, but kept out of the press, Kingsley assured him. Harry knew enough to know that it wasn’t about showing him kindness, it was about the image of the Ministry. Kingsley couldn’t afford a scandal, and the Wizarding world was still too wary of corruption. 

They were only 20 years out from the War, the Second War for some - but a lot more people just lumped them both together. There was just the War, with an eleven to sixteen year lull in the middle, depending who you asked. Harry didn’t think there’d really been any lull - just that when you’re born into war, it takes you awhile to realize that what you’re living in isn’t peace.  

Harry was their hero - always had been. If he should look at all tarnished…

“I never asked for that,” Harry told Kingsley, when Kingsley brought up how ruinous this could be for his incorruptible image.

Kingsley leveled him with a look. Harry swallowed the words, ‘I’m still only human’ and instead added. “It was a calculated strategy that has paid off. By the time I knew who they were… inadvertently bringing their enemies down on the Wizarding World would have been ruinous for us all, not just my image.”

“You’ve never favoured isolationism before.” Kingsley raised an eyebrow. “And yet you expect me to believe-”

“Everything in moderation,” Harry interrupted. “I’ve never argued for the complete dismantling of the Statute of Secrecy - only that the Wizarding World understands that so-called ‘Muggle Problems’ affect us too. We share a planet, Kingsley - not only that, but we depend on them for basic infrastructure. 90% of the Wizarding Britain lives and shops in the Muggle Britain, 30% have non-Wizarding jobs, 60% marry-”

“I know the statistics, this isn’t the conversation we’re having,” Kingsley interrupted.

“Then what is the conversation we’re having?” Harry threw back. “You’re telling me there will be a private investigation, because some American is annoyed that I went above his head. I’m saying that’s perfectly fine with me. The investigation will find that I was well within my rights to exercise caution when interacting with the Winchesters, that my strategy for gaining their trust was both the best course of action AND successfully re-established the alliance with the Men of Letters. An organization that had gone to ground and broken off all contact, well before the War, because they didn’t trust anyone but themselves… and not only have they reopened talks, but they’ve intrusted their two most valuable agents to our care-”

“And if they hadn’t?” Kingsley countered. “If you’re relying on results to get you out of this mess, Harry-”

“It’s always worked for me before,” Harry said. “I successfully broke into and out of Gringotts, Minister - did anyone arrest me for that? No, because it was integral to defeating Tom Riddle.”

“That was the War - the Ministry had fallen,” Kingsley argued. “You are Head Auror - you are meant to uphold the law, not rise above it!”

“Everything I did was approved by the Head of the Department-”

“You’re best friend, Hermione Granger,” Kingsley growled. “You understand how this looks, Harry-”

“I can hardly help it if the Head of the Department is also a friend of mine!” Harry replied, frustrated. “It’s not like I personally approved her posting. I had nothing to do with it. Hermione was promoted on her skill and experience alone - and if you for a minute think that she lets me get away with anything, just because we’re friends, I’d like you to try suggesting that to her face and see what happens.”

Kingsley took a deep breath and Harry watched as the frustration eased from his shoulders, and any trace of anger left his face. When he spoke again, his voice was gentle, and old - it reminded Harry of when he had first met Dumbledore… as though he had finally found an adult he could trust, who was in his corner.

“Harry, just… tell me now - are you telling the truth about all this?”

“Yes,” Harry replied, putting a fair bit of exasperation into his voice. “I admit that it was a risky play, but to not take it- would have been a greater risk, in my estimation. I followed all the correct confidential channels. My immediate superiors were always kept apprised of the situation. And that’s what your investigation team will find, I promise you.”

“That’s all I wanted to know,” Kingsley said, giving Harry a gentle smile. “I do trust you Harry. This wasn’t meant to be an interrogation. I just thought, as a friend, I should let you know about the investigation - it’s only to satisfy the Americans, you understand? I just wanted you to be able to anticipate some of the questions they may ask.”

“Of course,” Harry said. “I apologize for my frustration. Thanks for being a friend, Kingsley.” They exchanged friendly smiled. “Oh,” Harry said, deciding that he might as well press his luck. “Speaking of the Men of Letters, I need to get a few guest passes for the Ministry library, do you think you…”

Kingsley rolled his eyes as Harry trailed off.

“Well, if I didn’t believe you before,” Kingsley laughed, opening his desk draw and taking out his letterhead and quill. “No one would be audacious enough break that many laws and then have the gall to ask for library passes - not even Harry Potter.”

Harry laughed, and watched as Kingsley wrote out the authorization letter. 

Part of him wondered what would happen if he told the truth. Harry knew that Kingsley would probably go along with the lie - he was close to retirement, and hardly wanted a scandal before he left. Being Minister, with Harry as Head Auror, was a good image. Kingsley would back Harry to save his own legacy, if anything. Really, it wasn’t a coincidence that Kingsley was reminding him of Dumbledore. Dumbledore had never really been in Harry’s corner either - they’d just had similar goals for the brief period of time that Harry knew him and that had been enough.

Kingsley handed over the authorizations. Harry thanked him and left.

If there’s one thing that Albus Dumbledore had taught him, it was that some people didn’t want the truth. He only wished that Sam was one of those people - but there was no avoiding the fact that Harry was going to have to be honest about what he had learned from Dean.

*

Sam and Castiel returned to London using a portkey. Draco made sure it dropped them in Teddy and Kevin’s neighbourhood, since the fidelius charm prevented him from making a portkey directly to the house or from using floo powder

The trip was just as nauseating as Sam remembered, and he regretted not making a stronger argument for taking the rented Benz instead. But he also felt bad for making Cas hitch-hike out to Wiltshire, and figured he’d appreciate a faster journey back.

Sam followed Cas once they landed. He knew he had been to Teddy’s house before - back when it belonged to Harry. And he could easily remember what it looked like both inside and out, but he could no longer remember the address. Sam knew it was the fidelius charm at work, but even so, it felt like a natural gap in his memory that niggled at him, and poking at that gap was like poking his tongue at a missing tooth. 

Cas stopped them on a nondescript street, lined with old townhouses, and told Sam to wait. Sam nodded. He glanced away for only a moment, but when turned back to Cas, the angel was no longer there.

Sam waited.

It was, he decided, jarring to be back in the UK, especially since he hadn’t been expecting the trip. His hastily packed bag was at Draco’s, but he had Dean’s bag slung across his back. It had been two days since he’d seen his brother - Sam figured he was probably pretty desperate for a change of clothes by now, especially since when Sam last saw him, he’d been covered in Styne blood. Sam hoped the wizards had given him something clean to change into. 

Sam was trying fairly hard not to think about what it would be like to see Kevin. He hadn’t been in the same room with Kevin since - well, since Gadreel. And he had spent the last two days fairly angry at the kid to top it off - but Draco had a point, really, everyone had a point - Kevin wasn’t an idiot and neither was Hermione, and if they had cooked up this plan and claimed it was a better one than simply using the spell in the Book of the Damned, then… then they were probably right, and Sam just had to ignore his wounded pride.

“Hi Sam,” Kevin said.

“Hi,” Sam replied, completely caught off guard by Kevin’s sudden appearance.

“It’s good to see you,” Kevin smiled.

“You too,” Sam replied. 

They stared at each other for an awkward moment as Kevin seemed to be considering him. He didn’t look too pleased by what he saw. Sam had a growing sense of dread fill him, as he wondered if Kevin had the power to keep Sam cut out of whatever scheme the Wizards were brewing - if by his word, Sam might not be able to see Dean again, or be involved at all in saving him. More than that, Sam wondered if he had crossed some line with Kevin, if there had been some straw that broke the camel’s back on what Kevin would put up with from the Winchesters. Maybe this was the end of a friendship, or whatever it was that Kevin and Sam had before - before Gadreel, before the Book of the Damned and Rowena.

Kevin shook his head. 

“Okay, give me a hug,” Kevin demanded, and opened his arm, motioning Sam forward.

Sam felt nothing but relief as he leaned down for the hug.

“I live at Number 12 Grimmauld Place,” Kevin whispered into Sam’s ear, and Sam pulled back from the surprise of it. It seemed almost ridiculous that he had forgotten now. Of course that’s where Kevin lived. Behind where Kevin stood, a house suddenly unfolded along the row, and it was just as Sam remembered it, now that he could remember it.

Castiel was standing on the porch with Teddy and Nate, who both smiled and waved happily when Sam caught their eye. Charlie was leaning against the door frame just behind them. 

Kevin smiled up at Sam’s reaction and awkward wave in return - how long had they been standing there watching Sam look right past the house without seeing it? - and then Kevin turned and let Sam follow him through the gate and up to join the others.

Once Sam had hugged Teddy and Nate, Charlie stepped forward.

“Are you mad at us?” she asked.

Sam shook his head, and then she hugged him too. 

He was angry, but he was beginning to realize that it was the anger he always felt -  _ always  _ \- it was an anger at the world, his life, the circumstances that had led him here. It was an anger that usually simmered, but had boiled over at Sam’s actions being questioned, being judged, when it was so clear to him that he had no other choice. Only, that hadn’t been true, in the end.

“Have you seen him?” Sam asked.

Charlie shook her head. “I spent most of yesterday working with Draco, and the rest sleeping off the jetlag.”

“So, uh - I guess we never got to the talk about Wizards, huh?” Sam laughed. “Um, surprise?”

Charlie laughed, and then pulled him into the house to follow the others to the kitchen.

“It’s pretty amazing,” Charlie told him. “After Oz… well, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, and yet - I thought the only magic in our realm was the bad kind, you know? And even in Oz, the good kind was thin on the ground. It’s nice to… to... it’s nice.”

“Yeah,” Sam said. He wasn’t sure how to articulate it either. It was nice that not everyone with preternatural abilities exploited them, perhaps… or maybe it was just nice to have friends who could help in certain situations.

Sam and Cas had apparently interrupted breakfast. The table was set for four with food half eaten. Everyone took their seats again, with Sam and Cas joining. Teddy offered them more food, but Sam declined and instead just accepted a second coffee.

“I have to admit, I was a little concerned there was something wrong with my hosting when I woke up to find that Castiel had left,” Teddy said. “But he said… er, in the note he sent - that he felt that you were in distress, Sam? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, Draco just um - needed some info, and… um…” Sam realized that he didn’t know how to explain it. It wasn’t anything Draco did, really, so Sam had already started off wrong.

“Sam had an anxiety attack,” Castiel finished for him. “Astoria explained,” Cas clarified at Sam’s look.

“Yeah,” Sam nodded, because that was as good an explanation as any. “Draco had a question about… uh, bad memories, and-”

“You don’t have to explain, Sam,” Teddy interrupted. Sam couldn’t help the sigh of relief. He wasn’t even sure why he had tried to. “I could make you a tea instead of the coffee,” Teddy offered, eyeing Sam’s cup. 

Sam couldn’t help the small grin that tugged at his lip.

“I’m alright,” he declined. “Draco gave me something and I had a good sleep after.”

Teddy nodded, like a professional approving of Sam’s life, and Sam smiled more, remembering both the wide-eyed kid that Teddy had once been and the mess of teenage angst he’d been the last time Sam had seen him. It seemed whatever had happened between then and now had been good for Teddy.

“Hey,” Sam found himself saying. “Can you still turn into us?”

Teddy blinked at him, and then shifted. Sam was now staring at himself, a little slack jawed. It was bizarre to not see a mirror image - he looked wrong somehow.

“Holy…” Charlie muttered. 

“Dean?” Sam asked, and Teddy shifted again.

Sam felt a pang at the sight of his brother, well - at his brother as Teddy saw him, which was nearly perfect but not quite. He didn’t have the right facial expressions, for one - he was also inexplicably younger looking. Sam missed him.

“Can you turn into women too?” Charlie asked.

“Yeah, he-” Sam started, but was interrupted as the fireplace in the corner roared to life, turned green, and spat out Harry Potter. Charlie had startled, but that was nothing compared to the surprised look on Harry’s face when he caught sight of the table.

“Jesus Christ, Teddy!” Harry exclaimed, clutching his heart. “I thought- put your own face back on.”

“Sam asked me to do it,” Teddy defended himself, and it was really weird to hear Dean speak with Teddy’s british accent and higher register voice.

“Teddy!” Harry closed his eyes and seemed to be gathering strength. “Just - a different face, please.”

Sam had to bite his lip as Teddy shifted again. 

Harry opened his eyes.

“And, now you’re my wife, great,” Harry deadpanned. “Is this really going to be one of those days, Ted, because I had thought you were getting a little old for-”

“I just thought,” Teddy answered, and even his voice was different, now soft and higher, “that this way you might show me a little respect - in my own home, I might add.” Then he winked at Charlie, who laughed.

Harry glared, and shook his head and turned to Sam. 

“I thought you were staying at Malfoy’s,” Harry said.

“Hello to you too, Harry,” Sam replied.

Teddy let out a giggle. And then Sam felt a little bad, because it was obvious, from Harry’s expression, that he had planned for this visit to Grimmauld place to go very differently.

“I  _ am _ staying at Malfoy’s,” Sam answered, feeling a little more charitable. “I came to town to see Dean. Harry glanced at Teddy. “The real Dean,” Sam added.

Harry cringed, and Sam felt his charitable feeling ebb away.

“Harry,” Sam growled. The rest of the room fell into silence.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Harry replied. “We’ve got him locked up in Azkaban. Dean is… fairly angry.”

“Yes, so am I,” Sam replied.

“Dean is also unstable,” Harry added.

“So am I,” Sam replied.

“He had his own plan for solving everything,” Harry said softly, when the tense silence had stretched too long. “So, it seems Kevin thwarted more than just one of you.

“What’s his plan?” Sam asked.

“Summon Death and ask to be killed,” Harry answered.

“No!” Sam nearly yelled. “That-”

“Is a very bad plan, I agree,” Harry said quickly. “Sam - nothing good will come out of seeing him at the moment. I think it’d be better if you invested your time in something that could actually help.”

“Such as what?” Sam asked. “Draco’s apparently in charge and he won’t tell me much, because apparently he’s not allowed to talk about his job - even when his job concerns my brother!”

“Draco isn’t in charge,” Harry replied. “A Special Committee containing members of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and the Department of Mysteries is in charge, and as a member of said committee, I’ve gotten you permission to research in the restricted library at the Ministry - Charlie, Cas, and Kevin as well - It’s just as good as the library at Hogwarts with the added benefit of not having children underfoot while you’re trying to work, and-”

“So, you’re shuttling me off to some underground library where I can lose myself in research and stay out of everyone’s way,” Sam finished. 

“There may be valuable-” Harry began.

“Save it,” Sam said and sighed, suddenly defeated. “I’ll go. It’s fine.” Sam still fumed on the inside, it was nothing he could tamp down. He felt out of control and hated it. 

“Well, good. I’m… glad. Let me know when you’d like to leave,” Harry replied, seemingly thrown by Sam’s capitulation.

“Good,” Sam said. 

The silence that followed was just as awkward as before. Harry shuffling oddly on his feet, like he wasn’t quite sure if he should stay or leave.  Finally, Charlie spoke up.

“So… what’s Hogwarts and why is it the measure of libraries?” she asked the room.

Teddy smiled. At some point during Sam and Harry’s discussion, Teddy had morphed back into himself - or, at least, he was no longer Ginny. His hair now was mousy brown, not red, and his features plain - but when he turned to Charlie, he got turquoise highlights here and there, and his features sharpened a little.

Sam sat back and listened as Teddy explained the wizarding school to Charlie, and by extension how he and Nate had met in first year, when they were sorted one after the other into Hufflepuff. Harry stood by the kitchen counter, adding his own bits of information in every so often. With everyone occupied, Sam used the time to start coming up with a backup plan.


	9. Chapter 9

After breakfast was finished and Sam and Castiel had left, Draco went to his study to continue his work. It was the weekend, and although he was still working, Draco had a certain principle about not going into the office on the weekends - he much prefered the familiar homeyness of his rosewood furniture.

He worked well into the afternoon, and would have missed lunch entirely, if Astoria hadn’t shown up with a sandwich and a letter.

“It’s from Scorpius,” she explained, smiling. “I’ve already read it, and thought perhaps you might like to take a break and do so as well. You’ve been working on this assignment for… well, I think this is the longest we’ve spoken, just the two of us, for three days.”

“It’s a very important-”

“-a very important assignment,” Astoria said at the same time, and finished for him. “I know, dear. And how is it going?”

Draco looked at his scattered notes. He had the basic idea of what needed to be done, and a spell that would do it, but also possibly undo Creation, so obviously that wasn’t a fantastic solution.

He looked back up at Astoria, to find her giving him a small smile - the kind of smile that she wore when she was either up to something or knew full well that Draco was about to admit that she was right in an argument - Draco guessed this appearance of the smile was for the latter reason. He sighed.

“I’ll solve the problem, Astoria. I must,” Draco insisted. “Just because it’s not going particularly well right now, is no indication of my future success or failure - persistence is the-”

“-the key to all endeavours,” Astoria once again finished for him. “Well, my dear, so is taking a break now and then, especially one to read good news from your son. You may return to your work with new eyes, afterward, you never know.”

“Good news?” Draco repeated, his attention catching and fixing on that one part of Astoria’s sentence. “Give me the letter!”

Astoria laughed and handed over Scorpius’ letter. Draco was always going to read it, of course. It wasn’t as though he would ever send a letter from Scorpius away rather than read it right then and there. But, good news made him all the more desperate for it - as he could certainly stand to hear something good, after hearing about all the distressing things that had befallen Sam and Dean.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Astoria said. “I have to go run some errands. Let me know if you’re going to be too busy to dine with me this evening. I can always use the excuse for a girls’ night out with Henrietta and Trudy.”

“Hm-hm,” Draco agreed, as he opened the letter and began to read.

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

_Albus is writing his parents, because his father sent a really weird letter asking him if he’d had any weird dreams lately. Albus says it’s because he used to be good at divination as a kid or something - he doesn’t really remember, but his parents tell him he used to have bad dreams when things were bad other places in the world. Isn’t that interesting? Did that ever happen with me when I was a kid? Albus says it’s normal for wizard kids, but doesn’t happen anymore, at least not that he knows about. But now he’s all worried that there might be something wrong with his family, if his dad is asking weird questions like that. So I thought I should write to you, to make sure that you were both safe and sound and nothing bad was happening. I think if something bad was happening, they’d tell us, wouldn’t they? Did they ever tell you when the bad things were happening or did you just know from home?_

_All is well at Hogwarts. Albus and I got permission to practice our flying on the pitch on Tuesdays after class. Al hasn’t made up his mind yet about Quidditch, but I’d like to at least try out next year._

_Oh, and Dad - you were right about studying with Rose. She said her dad told her that she had to do better than I did, but I told her that it wasn’t really a fair measure of natural talent unless we studied the same amount and covered the same material - and she agreed that I was right, and together (with Al too, though he was considerably less enthusiastic) we made a study schedule and revised together. We even revised the classes we don’t share - since we had to make sure that the professor didn’t accidentally teach one of us something that the other didn’t get a chance to learn. It was brilliant. We both got top marks on our last three tests! Rose gets slightly higher grades than I do, because her spelling is better, but she says that doesn’t count, since it doesn’t really matter how you spell words as long as what you’re saying is correct. It makes her dad happy though, and I’m not too bothered by it_

_Albus says he was finished his letter twenty minutes ago and he is now telling me that I talk too much. Rude. He and his parents send the shortest letters - no wonder they’re always confused and worried about each other. “Dear Albus - Have you had any weird dreams lately? Love Harry, I mean Dad.” That is honestly what Mr. Potter wrote. Albus says he wrote back “No. Is everything okay? Why are you asking?” Then he told his dad that he had a dream that I was studying too hard and was angry at him for no reason, but that’s the only dream he remembers - and he thinks it’s because I’ve been studying too hard, but he just thinks that because he gets bored so eas-_

**_This is Albus - Scorpius talks too much. Please confirm you and Scorp’s mum and the world outside Hogwarts are all okay, so I can stop worrying.  
_** **_Sincerely,_**  
_**Albus Severus Potter.**_

_Rude._

_All my love,_

_Scorpius_

“Weird father, weird child,” Draco declared, looking up from the letter, as he addressed Astoria. “Honestly, what is Harry doing worrying the children- and why am I talking to an empty room?”

Draco then remembered that Astoria had left. Did she write back to Scorpius or was she expecting him to- ah, Draco knew the answer to this. Scorpius was worried because Albus was worried, because Harry was an idiot, and Draco had a new assignment that involved Sam Winchester. Astoria would have to have been obliviated for her not to put two and two together. It definitely fell to Draco to reassure Scorpius.

Picking up his quill and a fresh piece of paper, Draco wrote.

_Dearest Scorpius,_

_Your mother and I are both well and intend to remain that way. As of late, Harry Potter and myself have been working on a perplexing assignment - albeit it separately and on different aspects of the issue, for, as you know, our areas of expertise differ greatly. Needless to say, I cannot disclose any more information on the subject._

_However, I can reassure you that neither we, nor the world, are in any danger.  This is purely an intellectual exercise, and I do believe that Mr. Potter was simply hoping to find a shortcut to hard work, as suffice it to say that the apple does not fall far from the tree when it comes to the ability to sit still and study for long periods of time._

_Prophetic dreams are rare in young children, and even rarer in adults. I am sure Albus has long since grown out of the ability, if he did indeed suffer from it as a child. He’ll be happier for it in the long run._

_I am very pleased to hear about your studies with Rose Weasley. You have both devised a very clever way to measure intellect and I’m certain Mr. Weasley is as proud as I am, whether or not Rose continues to score higher._

_Scorpius -  that all being said, and prophetic dream or not, do make sure that Albus is not feeling neglected. It is all well and good to study hard and continue to revise with Rose - but be certain that Albus also feels included and has your help for his own studies. I know Albus’ father often thought better while in motion - I myself sometimes feel pacing and speaking aloud helps. Albus’ propensity for boredom may be an excellent opportunity for you and Rose to try out different studying techniques - or simply remember to take breaks and refresh the mind. I do believe that your mother just told me to do the same when she gave me your letter. I have been working on this assignment for three days, with very little sleep, and although I understand the problem much better now than when I began, I find myself still unable to arrive at a suitable solution._

_I will find a solution eventually, however, because I must._

_Scorpius - your mother sends her love, as do I,_ _  
_ _Dad_

On a separate piece of paper, Draco wrote a shorter note.

_Albus Severus Potter,_

_Please do not worry about your father or the world. Also, perhaps you and your father might try writing lengthier letters, it would seem to clear up confusion, no?_ __  
_Sincerely,_   
Mr. Malfoy

Draco sat back and skimmed Scorpius’ original letter again. He really was immensely proud of his son. He was also thrilled to have confirmation that Scorpius had managed to befriend not just Albus, but also Rose Weasley - even if the friendship with Rose was under the guise of intellectual sport. With both a Potter and a Weasley as friends, Scorpius would be far less likely to be ostracized socially, as Draco had been directly after the war and very much still was. Draco had really been left with only his parents, and eventually Astoria, who Draco was sure had only agreed to be seen in public with him out of pity.

Not that Draco was complaining about being pitied, he certainly could appreciate where it had led. It was only that if he had to do it over - he’d wish to be more like Scorpius, unpoisoned by his father’s beliefs, and work with Granger rather than against her. It was foolish of Draco to ever think he could compete with Hermione - ridiculous blood purity nonsense. All Draco’s pureblood lineage had bestowed upon him in the end was a difficult pregnancy for his wife and a propensity for sunburns. Granger, meanwhile, was the brightest witch of her age, and Draco knew that without her, Harry wouldn’t have been half as successful at saving anyone, let alone the entire wizarding world.

Draco stared at Scorpius’ letter as he realized a fundamental truth.

“I’m a fool,” Draco told the empty room.

And then he picked back up his quill to write another letter.

*

Hermione made her way through the marble hallways of the Wizengamot towards her office. The sound of her shoes echoed off the walls, and gave the illusion that someone was following her, though she knew full well that she would be the only person in this part of the Ministry on the weekend. No one else ever came in on the weekend, even the cleaning staff finished up Friday night and didn’t bother to return until Monday morning.

As she rounded the corner a dark figure in a hooded cloak stepped away from the wall.

She wasn’t, of course, the only person in this part of the Ministry on the weekend. She wasn’t overly surprised that he had gotten here before her.

“Granger,” Malfoy greeted, pulling his hood down to reveal his blond hair.

Hermione held up the letter she had received only two hours before, and raised her eyebrows.

“You asked me to meet you?” Hermione stated.

“I was wondering if you’ve heard recently from your eldest spawn,” Malfoy started, a sneer on his face.

Before Hermione’s annoyance could form words to speak, Malfoy suddenly cringed and held up a finger to halt her, or his own words.

“That’s not what I meant to say,” Malfoy sighed, then swore under his breath. Hermione raised her eyebrows again and found her anger dissipating into curiosity. Malfoy took a deep breath and continued, “What I meant to say was that I was wondering if you might be willing to lend your _marginally_ -superior intellect to the problem at hand. I’ll share what my research has revealed so far, and my current line of inquiry, and you can tell me your thoughts. If you were to agree to work with me, I am confident that together we can save Dean Winchester.”

“Marginally?” Hermione asked.

“Oh, let not _both_ of us be vain,” Malfoy replied. “Let me at least have that.”

“Very well, come in and show me what you’ve got,” Hermione said, using the excuse of opening her office door to turn and hide the smile tugging at her lips.

*

Harry watched the rag-tag Men of Letters team explore the Ministry library. He did direct them to the history and spellwork sections, rather than allowing them to waste their time getting lost in the endless sections devoted to magical law and land treaties. He wished, not for the first time that week, that Malfoy hadn’t been put in charge of finding the solution - as Harry felt utterly useless with Malfoy squirreled away somewhere doing the actual work, while Harry was apparently in charge of making sure that the Hunters didn’t kill them all. He wasn’t sure he was doing such a great job. Kevin still liked him, Charlie didn’t know him, and Sam - well, despite the fact that he had apparently mended fences with Cas, Kevin and Charlie, Harry seemed to be well and truly in Sam’s bad books.

Sam chose to scale bookshelves, rather than ask Harry to summon books from the top shelf down for him. And when Harry brought them small sandwiches for lunch, Sam grabbed his, nodded only to Kevin, retreated across the room, and went right back to reading next to Cas, who didn’t require sustenance at all.

“Hey, Harry,” Kevin said with a small smile. “Cas and I were wondering if you could catch Charlie up with the whole… Wizarding World thing… while me and Sam do some research into reversing curses.”

“My research skills aren’t actually that great,” Charlie added. “I’m better with computers and codes, and… uh, apparently that’s not going to be of much use here, judging by how Teddy and Nate have to keep theirs in the shed. Anyway, I haven’t had a chance to really read the books at your godson’s house, so I was wondering if maybe you could give me the rundown, you know? I mean, I’ve already had the whole monsters-are-real speech from Sam and Dean, and this actually doesn’t seem as bad as all that, so it might be a more pleasant conversation. I really enjoyed hearing about the school this morning, and I’m babbling now, sorry… I’ll… stop.”

“It’s fine,” Harry smiled. “Teddy used to do the same thing when he was nervous. I’d love to tell you about the Wizarding World - you know, I only found out about it when I was eleven and was suddenly being accepted to a Wizarding school - it was a bit of a learning curve!”

Kevin smiled, and retreated, as Harry started to answer Charlie’s questions, and tell stories about his own introductions to different aspects of the world. He ended up spending the entire afternoon like that, and a good portion of the evening. It was only when both his and Charlie’s stomachs began to growl in hunger that he realized how much time had truly passed.

“Oh,” Harry said. “I... we should be getting home.”

“Oh!” Charlie replied, standing. This caught the attention of the others, who were still huddled over a plethora of books at a far table.

“Time to go?” Kevin asked.

“We can return to tomorrow,” Harry replied.

Kevin and Cas both nodded, and quickly began to close and stack books on the return trolley. Sam did so too, though reluctantly.

“Did you find anything useful?” Harry asked.

“Yes”

“No”

Sam and Kevin answered at once. Harry raised an eyebrow.

“Nothing to help the Mark,” Sam added with a shake of his head and a frown.

“Perhaps Malfoy will have made headway while you’ve been away,” Harry replied, hoping his smile came across as hopeful rather than desperate.

Sam simply nodded. Harry took it as a win though, given that Sam, at the very least, seemed less angry now than he had before. So, he must have found at least something that gave him hope, or eased his anger somehow.

Harry puzzled over this as they walked back to the fireplaces in the entry hall, bidding goodbye to the weekend desk clerk and the guard. Sam nodded to them too, but Harry noticed that his eyes went to their wands as he passed by.

Harry handed Charlie, Kevin, and Cas, a pinch of floo powder first.

“Sam, if you want, I can apparate you back to Malfoy’s,” Harry offered. “I’m not sure whether Draco has had the time to add you to the manor’s floo warding… unless you’d like to accompany Charlie and Kevin back to Grimmauld Place?”

“Uh, no, I’d better go back to Draco’s,” Sam replied. He nodded to his friends. “I’ll catch up with you guys tomorrow again, okay?”

“You can get your stuff and come stay with us,” Kevin offered.

“Nah, I want to see if Draco’s made any progress.” Sam shrugged.

Kevin nodded and they all said their temporary goodbyes, before the three disappeared in the green flames, carefully staggered, so they wouldn’t all show up at Grimmauld at the same time and end up all wedged into the fireplace together.

Harry led Sam out the visitors entrance to the street, before grabbing his arm, waiting for his nod, and apparating them both to Wiltshire - just outside the large smoke black gates of Malfoy Manor.

“That never gets less nauseating,” Sam said. “Thanks though, I guess I’ll see you-”

“So, out of curiosity, what would you need?” Harry asked, ignoring Sam’s attempt at distraction.

“Need for what?” Sam asked, obviously confused.

“Okay, how about how long it would take you?” Harry asked. “Will you at least tell me that?”

Sam continued to look bemused. Harry just stared at him, until Sam’s face settled into a neutral and cold expression.

“Five days, possibly a week,” Sam replied. “Depends how long it takes to get the gear.”

“Five days, possibly a week,” Harry repeated, looking through the gates at Malfoy Manor, while his mind raced. “Would you kill anyone?”

“Not if I could help it,” Sam replied.

“Nobody has ever done it before,” Harry said. “Are you sure that-”

“That’s not true,” Sam replied. “Sirius Black-”

“Broke OUT,” Harry cut him off.

“The 1996 escapes were assisted-” Sam started again.

“The dementors were the only guards then - the dementors still patrol the sea, but they-”

“Car battery,” Sam said, as though that answered everything.

“Sam, we’ll find a cure-”

“And if you don’t?” Sam countered, the anger that was stewing under the surface all day spilling over. “What then? I just never see my brother again? You let him die? What’s the plan there?”

“Sam, we can cross-”

“You don’t have one!” Sam correctly concluded. “I at least do.”

“You have a suicide mission!” Harry countered.

“At least I’ll die DOING SOMETHING!” Sam yelled, and then stormed through the black gates towards the house.

Harry made to follow, and walked smack into very solid iron, because, of course, Draco hadn’t added Harry to the Manor guest list.

“Buggering fuck,” Harry muttered, rubbing the sore spot on his head, and watching Sam disappear into the huge house.

At least Harry knew that if Department of Mysteries failed to find a solution, they had possibly a week to prepare for another escape from Azkaban.

*

It was well past supper when the fireplace in Hermione’s office roared to life. Draco turned, expecting to see Ron’s face come into view calling his wife home - but he was surprised to see Astoria there instead.

“My apologies for the interruption, Ms. Granger-Weasley,” Astoria greeted. “I was hoping to speak to Draco.”

“By all means, shall I-” Hermione gestured to the door, but Astoria shook her head.

“I’ll be quick - Draco, Sam’s returned and I was hoping you might return home as well,” Astoria informed them. “It’s just that - well, he’s fairly angry.”

Draco frowned. Astoria seemed on edge for some reason.

“You should go,” Hermione told him. “I have to return home anyway. Continue working on it tomorrow, with Sam, if possible, and we’ll meet back up on Monday.”

“But we were making good progress,” Draco argued.

“He’ll be home shortly, Ms. Malfoy,” Hermione addressed Astoria. “Thank you for calling.”

“Thank you, Ms. Granger-Weasley,” Astoria returned, and then her face disappeared from the flames and the fire died back down.

“I don’t-”

“It’s late,” Hermione replied. “Your wife is home alone with a very large, very angry Hunter. I know Sam means her no harm, but-”

Draco cringed and realized why Astoria had seemed off. “Right.”

“Exactly,” Hermione replied. “Go distract him - he just needs to feel useful. Harry won’t let him see Dean.”

“Whyever not?” Draco asked, pausing as he gathered his papers. “They’re horrendously codependent - to keep them apart seems a ludicrous idea that’s bound to only breed resentment towards not only us but the entire Wizarding World.”

Hermione huffed a small laugh. “I don’t know how you do that, but you’re very good at it.” Draco had no idea what she was talking about, but she continued before he could ask. “Dean is… in extremely poor condition. He’s openly violent towards everyone he comes into contact with - the exception perhaps may be Sam, but even if it is, Harry does not want to take the risk. Dean has, in a more lucid moment, informed Harry that Dean wishes to be put to death, because Cain himself told him that the Mark intends for him to kill both Castiel and his brother.”   

Draco stared at her. His mind flying to  the tentative spellwork they had gone over for the solution.

“Why wasn’t I informed?” Draco asked. “This may affect the cure.”

“One thing at a time,” Hermione shrugged. “No sense worrying about cooperation when we don’t even have a plan with which to cooperate.”

“Still,” Draco insisted. Hermione raised an eyebrow.

“Then work it out, now that you know,” she snapped. “It’s late, I wish to go home. Go rescue your wife. Let Sam in on the plan so that he feels he can do something to help - it’ll at least solve one problem.”

Draco scowled, and used his wand to collate his notes and shove them back into his bag.

“May I use your floo?” He asked.

“By all means,” Hermione gestured to the fireplace. “Goodnight, Mr. Malfoy.”

“Ms. Granger-Weasley,” Draco replied, and then threw a handful of power into the fireplace. “Malfoy Manor.”


	10. Chapter 10

Work on Monday was somewhat of a relief for Teddy.  It wasn’t that he minded having houseguests - it was fun. He felt like an adult, which had been a fairly rare occurrence, before his disastrous trip to America the year before. Apparently, being honest about your mental health with your family made a huge difference when it came to managing said mental health. Teddy made a note of it, just in case someone were to ever ask him advice - which they may do, now that he had nearly all his shit together. No, Teddy liked having guests, he just disliked the fact that his guests were SAD. The more days that passed without word of a cure, the more Charlie and Castiel’s silent worry became like an oppressive pall over the whole house. Teddy tried his best to help. At the very least, he could provide a smiling face and an ear to listen.

Of course, there were some things he just couldn’t help with. He had offered, of course, but most everything was going through official channels - it wasn’t like it had been in the US, where Teddy could just offer to brew up a Draught of Living Death, do it, and no one would ask any questions about Health and Safety. Not to mention, of course, that if there were some sort of potion that could cure Dean, surely someone would have mentioned it by now - or Teddy would already know about it. He’d studied a lot of the more complicated curse-antidotes in the past year, studying under Healer and Potions Master Ibrahim Dabashi, and he’d never come across anything with a biblical connection. Snow White was about as close as he had gotten to the Bible, and most would argue that she wasn’t really close at all.

Nevertheless, Teddy found himself reading some of Ibrahim’s more obscure reference books, rather than continue to experiment with his current project. It wasn’t that his current project wasn’t fascinating, Teddy had proposed it himself - it was just that it had occurred to Teddy that Hogwart’s education had been very Western focused, and maybe some of Ibrahim’s volumes on Middle-Eastern potions might help - even if the most useful thing he had found so far was about serotonin levels in beasts of burden.

There was a knock on the door frame of the lab. Teddy didn’t bother to look up. There were only the two of them in this section of St. Mungo’s Facility for the Research of Magical Maladies.

“Did you know that it can take thirty minutes for a potion to reach a horse’s intestines?” Teddy asked, then carried on before Ibrahim could answer. “If you want to increase the serotonin in their digestional tract, you have to time it right - I mean, that’s only if you’re treating irregular stools and not mood, but it’s still interesting.”

“Er, no, I didn’t know that,” someone, who was definitely not Ibrahim answered. Teddy’s head snapped up.

Draco Malfoy was standing in the doorway to his lab, looking as wrong footed as Teddy suddenly felt.

“Wotcher, Cousin,” Teddy greeted. Draco flinched, almost imperceptibly, but Teddy was good at reading faces.  “I thought you were Ibrahim - uh, Mr. Dabashi, my advisor.”

“I- yes, I just spoke with him,” Draco answered. “He told me I could interrupt you. I apologize if this is a bad time.”

Teddy looked down at the book he had been reading. The similarities between Dean Winchester and a common ox seemed much fewer than they had a moment ago.

“No, come in, sit down.” Teddy closed the book. “Tell me why you’re here.”

Draco closed the door behind him. Teddy lifted an eyebrow. He and Draco had never spoken before. They had sometimes caught each other’s eyes in the street, and most days one or both of them would promptly look away - other days, one or both of them would give the other one a nod of acknowledgement, but that was as far as they had ever progressed towards conversation. Until now, when apparently they were going to not only have a conversation, but have a private conversation.

“Tea?” Teddy offered, gesturing to the kettle beside him and the shelf of tea tins above it.

“I- actually, that’s why I came,” Draco replied as he sat on the stool across the workbench from Teddy.

“You came to have tea with me?” Teddy asked. “Uh, okay - well, what sort do you prefer? Black, green, rooibos?”

“No, I meant-,” Draco took a deep breath. “I’ve heard that…. I’ve heard about your research, and your advisor, Mr. Dabashi, just confirmed that you’re the best person for the job.”

“I specialize in the research and experimental treatments of rare mood disorders,” Teddy stated. He began to catalog all he knew about Draco - he was quiet, or at least, appeared to be when out on the street - as evidenced by not talking to his first cousin once removed - but then Teddy didn’t talk to him either, and Teddy wouldn’t qualify himself as necessarily a quiet person. Being quiet didn’t mean much anyway, as Kevin was a quiet person and didn’t have a rare mood disorder - he had a fairly decent case of PTSD, but it wasn’t exactly rare or hard to manage. Draco could have PTSD, most everyone in Harry’s generation had some form or another - but again, to come to Teddy for a treatment plan seemed a little excessive, as the Healer’s at St. Mungo’s usually found success with the standard methods. After Draco simply nodded at his statement, Teddy decided he’d just have to ask. “Do you have a rare mood disorder?”

“No!” Draco replied, obviously offended, then promptly confused, then he winced, no doubt realizing that he had just _been_ offensive, and then he smiled a little awkwardly.

Teddy narrowed his eyes and wondered if maybe Draco DID have a rare mood disorder.  

“No, not me,” Draco clarified.  “It’s for Dean Winchester.”

“Oh!” Teddy smiled. His heart picked up speed as he realized what this might mean - he was so excited that he didn’t even bother to try to stay still. He felt the freckles spread across his nose, his eyes turn green, and his hair go turquoise at the ends.

“I take it you’ll help me?” Draco raised an eyebrow as he took in Teddy’s appearance.

“I’ve already started working on it!” Teddy gestured to the book beside him,

“‘Potions for the Magical Management of Beasts of Burden’” Draco read out slowly, and cast a long look at Teddy.

“It made sense at one point,” Teddy shrugged.

“Well, perhaps I can help focus your research a little better,” Draco offered, and then reached into his bag and pulled out several rolls of parchment and a thick loose leaf notebook.

*

“Were you aware that Mr. Potter had broken the Statute of Secrecy to Hunters,” Rodrick Tintale asked evenly.

“Two civilians were attacked by Dementors - in saving them, Auror Potter could not avoid revealing the magical world,” Hermione answered, even though they all knew it was in her report, Ron’s report, and all corroborated by Phil’s report. “It was not until after it was revealed that they were the target of the Dementors that Harry discovered the true identities of the civilians.”

“Was Mr. Potter aware that there were standing orders to capture the Winchesters at the time of his encounter?” Tintale followed up.

Hermione was careful not to smile.

“The answer to that question is pointless to the outcome of your investigation,” Hermione answered. “Mr. Potter did not know they were the Winchesters until the following year.”

“When there was still a standing order to capture them,” Tintale countered. “And yet, by your own admission, he instead hid their identity and brought them into this very building - led them straight into Hogwarts!”

“True,” Hermione answered. “I agreed with his decision not to act on the orders, which were, I should add, standing orders only in the American Ministry, not in our own.”

“Was Philip O’Shaughnessy aware of their identity and the standing orders?” Investigator Clark asked, her American accent obvious.

“He was not aware of their identities, or surely he would have told Harry,” Hermione replied. “Or, he was not aware at the time of the Dementor attack. I cannot speak to afterward, you will have to ask him.”

“We have,” Clark responded, and left it at that.

“And what caused you to agree not to act upon learning the identity of the Hunters?” Tintale asked, with a slight glare at Clark. Hermione noted it - an investigation team should always present a united front, and yet it was obvious that Kingsley’s team did not take kindly to the American Ministry insisting one of their own sit-in on the Potter-Winchester Investigation. It was obvious why - if Harry was found to be corrupted, it’d be easy to make money, leaking information to the press. It’d also be an embarrassment for the Ministry; their hero fallen. Hermione wondered if the resentment was born out of distrust of Clark’s intentions, or out of a sense of competition for eventually writing the tell-all book. For her part, Clark appeared to be interested in one thing only - and that was the involvement of the American Aurors and their relative culpability in any law breaking that may or may not have occurred. Hermione liked her.

“At that point, we had invested a year into the careful cultivation of a standing relationship with the two Hunters - educating them on our world, in the hopes that they would not… make mistakes,” Hermione answered. “During the course of their visit to the UK, Harry may have learned their names, but he also learned of their possible connection to the Men of Letters, through their paternal Grandfather. He was not sure if they were still connected, but the very possibility was great - the Men of Letters is an insular society that views subsequent generations as legacies of the cause. Furthermore, information about the Winchester’s current case - at the time, concerning the rise of Lucifer - was also revealed and after much discussion, it was determined that the situation was too delicate to intervene. Both in terms of our progress in establishing an alliance with the Winchesters and possibly through them, the Men of Letters, and also in terms of protecting the world from a threatened apocalypse.”

This too, was in the report, though in different words. It was important, when falsifying documents, to not repeat them verbatim supposedly years after they were written.

“Henry Winchester disappeared in the 1950s, along with many other suspected Men of Letters members,” Tintale said. “It was believed that the society had either disbanded or been eradicated.”

“They are, as I said, an insular society that prefer to remain hidden,” Hermione replied. “Henry Winchester's body was never found.”

“Hunters burn their dead,” Clark replied. “Lack of a  body means nothing.”

“Perhaps not,”Hermione conceded. “And yet, Sam and Dean contacted Mr. Potter a little over a year ago in order to establish an official liaison for the Men of Letters in the person of Kevin Solo.”

“Ms. Granger-Weasley,” Tintale interrupted. “You, of all people, know that just because things have worked out, doesn’t mean you can justify-”

“That’s exactly what I can do,” Hermione interrupted. “It was the goal of the entire endeavour, once we learned their identities and the possible connection to the Men of Letters. We had the goal. We developed a strategy - and that strategy included not broadcasting to the entire world that we had regained contact with, arguably, the most elite and knowledgeable Muggle secret society that has ever existed.”

“If they were so knowledgeable, how come Mr. Potter had to break the Statute of Secrecy at all? Wouldn’t they have already known?” Clark argued. Hermione couldn’t hide her smile this time, it was a good point.

“Well, you’ll have to ask them,” Hermione replied. “But, and this is just a theory mind you, I do believe that a good way to hide the fact that you’re a member of a secret society is to pretend that you are not.”

“And in the intervening years, between their visit to the UK and Kevin Solo’s arrival as official liaison?” Tintale asked, not looking impressed at all by Hermione’s answer to Clark’s question.

“Mr. Potter and myself have been keeping up an exchange of research,” Hermione replied. “It was through that connection that we learned how to defeat the Leviathan threat.”

“And what of our secrets have you revealed?” Tintale pressed. “Without any formal non-aggression agreement in place, I might add.”

“Civics,” Hermione replied. “Details of how Lord Voldemort was defeated. Nothing that an eleven year-old at Hogwarts wouldn’t learn in the first month of school, I assure you. The Men of Letters wanted only to know how we were faring after the rise and fall, and rise and fall, of Tom Riddle and his ilk. The wars, I’m lead to believe, were one of the main reasons the older generation decided to cease engagement with us, though I have never gotten confirmation on this.”

“And now they’ve come to us for help,” Tintale replied. “If this is a test of the newly formed relationship - it is a difficult one to pass. What happens if we fail?”

“A better question is what does it mean that the person with the Mark of Cain knows about the Wizarding World?” Clark interrupted. “If we fail, what does that mean for our safety?”

“I’d argue that a more relevant question would be…” Hermione replied, keeping her voice calm and even. “What would it have meant for our safety if they hadn’t come to us at all? Isn’t that what this investigation is about? Whether myself and Mr. Potter have endangered the Wizarding World or protected it?”

“It’s a hell of a gamble,” Tintale said, and it was the first time he spoke to her as though she were a person.

“I think you’ll find, if you look at my student records, that I’ve never had the gift of a Seer,” Hermione replied with a self-deprecating grin. “I never imagined that these circumstances would ever occur. It’s my job to react to what is real and determine what is just. In this case, it is up to you to determine whether I’ve acted in accordance with the mandate of my position, based on the information I had at the time. What happens next with the Men of Letters… well, I suppose that’s in the hands of the Department of Mysteries.”

“So it is,” Tintale nodded gravely.

Hermione took a deep breath and waited for the next question, or for her dismissal. The truth was, the investigation would not be over before an attempt at a cure - and whether it should or not, the result would inevitably colour the conclusion of the investigatory panel.  If the cure failed, if Dean broke loose, if Sam lost patience and caused problems... it could all come crashing down.

It was better, in the long run, for Harry’s connection to Sam and Dean and the Men of Letters to be official, but Hermione had to agree with Tintale on this one.

It was a hell of a gamble.

*

The next few days fell into a routine for Draco. He’d go to the office and research spellwork until lunch. He’d eat in Hermione’s office, both using the brief ‘free time’ in their schedules to consult their individual progress. For a few hours after lunch, before he attended a daily debrief with the Men of Letters, he’d travel to St. Mungo’s Facility for the Research of Magical Maladies, and listen to Teddy ramble over his own research. Draco used the opportunity to poke around Teddy’s little laboratory. It had been a dog’s age since Draco had last been in a proper Potion Master’s workroom, and Draco found himself both nostalgic and intrigued. The room always smelled of some strange concoction or another.

Teddy paid Draco very little mind, so Draco got more bold with his investigations every day. Passed  an initial ‘Don’t mess up my experiments,’ Draco sometimes wondered if Teddy even remembered he was in the room. He certainly didn’t pause in his speaking long enough for Draco to get a word in. Draco suspected that the smile Teddy greeted him with every day was probably more to do with the fact that he’d seem less insane if there was someone else in the room while he was speaking. This tied directly in with Draco’s suspicion that Mr. Dabashi’s friendly nod whenever they crossed paths was more to do with being relieved that Teddy had someone else to ramble in the general direction of, and not at all to do with Mr. Dabashi’s opinion of Draco himself.

Teddy was a strange child, or, young man at this point. He looked and sounded like his father so much sometimes, that Draco had old memories of third-year resurface. Then, at other times, he looked like his mother; a woman that Draco had only ever caught glimpses of - mostly, he had to admit, in the In Memoriam section of The Daily Prophet every May 2nd. Draco had never met his cousin, nor his Aunt Andromeda - though he saw her in passing in the street occasionally. He had wondered, for a time, if he should try to contact Andromeda - but when it came down to it, it wasn’t his place.

“You sure you don’t want tea?” Teddy asked, interrupting himself from a ramble about the individual components of rose thorns that Draco had long since lost track of, but he assumed were deeply important to Teddy. “I’ve got something for dark moods.”

“I’m not in a mood,” Draco argued.

“Sure you aren’t,” Teddy nodded. “You nicking potion ingredients from me, cousin?”

“No,” Draco rolled his eyes, then couldn’t help himself and finally asked. “Why do you call me that? Before this week, we’d never spoken.” Draco snapped his mouth closed and regretted his entire existence.

Teddy shrugged, seemingly unbothered by Draco’s rudeness.

“I don’t have many blood-relatives,” Teddy answered. “It’s fun.”

“Your grandmother hates me,” Draco found himself saying.

“What makes you say that?” Teddy asked, and he swiveled around on his chair and gave Draco his full attention. Draco stepped away from the containers he had been reading, trying to make his interest in Teddy’s supplies less obvious.

“Your mother is dead,” Draco said, because apparently he just couldn’t help being a complete idiot. “Shit- I mean-”

“Did you kill her?” Teddy’s eyebrows rose, but beyond that, he didn’t seem particularly bothered that Draco was the most insensitive conversational partner to ever exist.

“No!”

“Did you see who did?”

“No!”

“Pity, I’ve always wondered,” Teddy swiveled back around and turned a page in his notebook, scribbling something down on the paper. “How about my father? Did you see who killed him?”

“No,” Draco answered. “I was… I think they died while I was with Potter in the Room of Requirement. But maybe I just think that because that’s when Crabbe died, and I’ve gotten it in my head that everyone just… died at the same time. Even though I know that’s not true, because I saw others- bloody hell.” Draco wiped at his suddenly wet eyes.

“Sorry,” Teddy offered. “I shouldn’t have asked. I was just curious if I should be undertaking some epic revenge quest or if I can rest assured that my parents’ murderers have been brought to justice. But, back to our original topic - what does my mother’s death have to do with Gran hating you?”

Draco took a deep breath, trying to calm himself.

“I mean, that… I’m alive,” Draco replied. “And your mother is not. And that’s hardly fair, given that your mother - from what I’ve been told - was an inarguably good woman, and I was a prejudiced birk who aided the killing of children. And your grandmother must also be a very kind woman, and my mother is… not overly so, not so to most in anycase, and yet… well, my father lives and I live, and meanwhile Aunt Andromeda has had her entire family murdered. It hardly seems fair, and she has every right to hate us.”

“She has every right to _resent_ you,” Teddy nodded. “And she does.”

“So, I’m right,” Draco stated, though it brought him no pleasure.

“I’m going to give you a big fat, ‘well yes and no’ on that one, cousin,” Teddy said. “Firstly, it sounds like you have a lot of unaddressed guilt about your behaviour as a child, and you’re projecting your own self-hatred on other people. Secondly, my Gran isn’t exactly the paragon of virtue, so you needn’t pay her resentment any mind - none of us got to decide who lived and died, if we did… well, if we did, I wonder how any of us could live with ourselves. Did you ever murder anyone?”

“No!” Draco’s head spun at the abrupt question. “I was supposed to kill Dumbledore, but I couldn’t and Snape- FUCK, why am I telling you this!?”

Draco dropped into a chair and buried his face in his hands, it was all too much. He felt tears build behind his eyes, and he both wanted to avoid this subject entirely and be honest with Teddy - Draco had never had any family either as a child, it had just been him and his parents. Teddy had only had his Gran.

“Are you in pain?” Teddy asked, concern evident in his voice.

Draco shook his head. “Just emotional. I like it when you call me cousin, but I don’t deserve it.”

“Do I deserve it?” Teddy asked.

“Yes,” Draco replied without hesitation. “You deserve the world. You’re a good-… your parents… I can only imagine that they’d be very proud of you. You’re… infinitely strange, but in my limited knowledge of them, I believe your parents would have loved that most about you.”

Teddy chortled out a wet-sounding laugh, and Draco wiped at his own eyes and looked up.

“That’s enough, I think,” Teddy said, and waved his wand. The heavy smell in the room cleared, and was replaced with fresh air. “Now, come here and let me scan your brain - make sure I haven’t permanently damaged it.”

Draco rolled his eyes, but obediently went over to Teddy and sat on the stool next to him.

“Seeing as how you were breathing it in too, I highly doubt you didn’t thoroughly check its relative safety before you asked me to be a second test subject,” Draco said, as a glowing blue image of his brain appeared in the air in front of him.

“Where do you keep the key to your family vault?” Teddy asked.

“None of your business,” Draco replied.

“Not a truth serum then,” Teddy checked off a line of his notes. “Pity. I’m family too, you know.”

“Officially disowned,” Draco reminded him.

“Awkward - your son is best mates with my brother.” Teddy made more notes.

“Adopted brother, and they’re just friends - we hardly have to worry about marriage,” Draco replied.

“Yet!” Teddy smiled and made his eyebrows dance - which was really something on a shapeshifter.  Draco groaned. “Seriously,” Teddy continued. “Scorp is like a little Hermione when it comes to intellect, if he follows that tradition, it’s either going to be Albus or Rose - and which would you really prefer?”

Draco groaned harder. “Rose is little Hermione in this scenario, and one case does not make trad-”

“Well, she can’t marry Albus, he’s her cousin - so, you basically just answered my question.” Teddy laughed.

“They aren’t little copies of us,” Draco argued, though part of him was rather terrified that Teddy was correct. He wondered if Teddy could tell, given the intensity that he was looking at the floating image of Draco’s brain. “They’ll be their own people. Scorpius will marry whomever he wishes - and that won’t necessarily be some child he met at age eleven on a train. Besides, as I recall, Hermione had a missed opportunity to choose Viktor Krum - and don’t we all wish she had.”

Teddy kicked him lightly in the shin. “Shut-it, Ron’s my uncle.”

“Adopted, and you should be thankful for that,” Draco pointed out. “I thought you made the distinction yourself, given that you were dating a Weasley not even a year ago, if memory serves.”

“You do keep up on gossip, don’t you?” Teddy muttered.

“And?”

“Only half true,” Teddy replied. “Victoire’s gorgeous. I can be gorgeous… and we may have made-out a few times, but… uh, it got kinda weird. Like-”

“Too much too fast?” Draco guessed.

“Yeah,” Teddy nodded.

“I hear that happens when you date your cousin,” Draco replied. This time, Teddy kicked his shin rather hard. Draco watched his own brain’s pain receptors light up.

Teddy laughed at the brain image as if it had been in on the joke.

“Any more questions?” Draco asked.

“Can you tell me about a time that you loved someone so much you cried?” Teddy asked.

Draco considered the question.

“No.”

“Too personal to tell your cousin?” Teddy teased.

“It’s just not something one talks about - I love my wife and son, I don’t cry about it.”

“Are you lying?” Teddy asked. “Because the other day Nate made me pancakes and I swear, I’m not sure how I got so lucky to have him as my platonic life partner, and he had to put up with me weeping about it for a minute, which just made me love him more.”

“You have the oddest relationships,” Draco muttered.

“So, lying? Yes or no? It’s for research purposes, so you’ve gotta suck up that manly pride, if that’s what’s holding you back.”

“Lying, yes. Manly pride, yes,” Draco gritted out.

Teddy nodded at the brain image and then waved it away.

“You can go then, the effects have worn off, so you’re safe for the world,” Teddy said.

Draco nodded and stood. He gathered his things, quickly, while Teddy wrote more notes.

“Oye, put the bezoar back, I know you nicked one,” Teddy called, before Draco could make his escape. Draco took the bezoar out of his pocket and threw it at Teddy’s head. Teddy’s hand shot up and grabbed it out of the air.

“Nice catch.”

Teddy just smiled and for a moment, he really did look like he could be Draco’s cousin, then Draco blinked, and a young version of his former Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher was smiling at him instead.

Draco made his way back to his own office, wondering what it meant that he couldn’t figure out which appearance he preferred.


	11. Chapter 11

Harry dropped the memory into the Pensieve and followed Sam down. Sam had been oddly quiet for the past few days. Either he was actually being patient and allowing the Wizards to work on a cure, or he was amassing supplies and one wrong step would send him rowing out into the North Sea - or whatever the bloody hell his plan entailed. Harry wasn’t sure if the memory would show Sam that the Wizards were being open and honest with him, or tip him over the edge and send him straight into whatever rebellion may still be itching under his skin.

The memory wasn’t of the  first time that Harry had gone out to Azkaban to see Dean, just the latest. They kept Dean sedated, as much as they could - but it seemed the longer he was exposed to potions, the more he built up an immunity to their effects. What had knocked him out for 24 hours before, now only kept him under for eight. They hadn’t tried the Draught of Living Death yet, which was supposedly permanent until the antidote was given - but the Healers had guessed that even that would likely wear off and need to be reapplied. 

As it was, the Department of Mysteries, under Draco’s orders, had a Potion Master from St. Mungo’s monitoring Dean’s reactions - through a scrying spell, as Dean was deemed too dangerous for civilians to interact with personally. Harry knew the Potion Master was Ibrahim Dabashi, Teddy’s advisor at St. Mungo’s Research Facility. Harry knew Dabashi wasn’t working on a cure. All matters pertaining to the cure went through the Department of Mysteries. Dabashi was only researching possibilities of keeping Dean indefinitely sedated, should no cure be found. It was a bleak prospect and Harry knew it would lose him not only Dean, but also Sam’s friendship - or Sam completely, depending on how he reacted to the news should it come to that.

As Head of the Aurors, and official liaison with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Harry met with the guards and administrators of Azkaban every other day to discuss their progress with the contingency plan, should the Department of Mysteries fail.  Harry would have preferred to be working on the more hopeful of the two plans - the cure itself, but he knew his talents didn’t lie there. Also, as a friend of Dean’s, Harry knew it was important that, should the worst happen, Harry could ensure that Dean was treated humanely - despite his growing inhumanity.

Technically, Harry didn’t have to see Dean when he came on these trips, but he did. Every time. If only to gage Dean’s mood and well-being for himself. The guards always described Dean as half-sedated, bored, and disgruntled… but Harry could tell it was more than that.

Half-sedated was accurate. Nearly everything Dean ingested was a potion as Dabashi ran his tests. But the effects just made Dean’s movements a little lethargic. By all accounts, the only time Dean slept was by the force of a sleeping potion. Otherwise, he would sit on his cot or pace his cell through the day and night. They openly gave him the potions, sometimes by force, because Dean rarely ate - even when they tried giving him hamburgers and pie. 

There were initial fears for his nutrition and hydration, but the Healers had confirmed that he seemed to require little to none of both. It was a well-made curse, they said, to preserve its host against their will. They attributed Dean’s lack of appetite to his subconscious rebelling, and a positive attempt not to give into the Mark, but die instead. Harry knew, just by looking at Dean, that that wasn’t the case.

Dean might not want to give into the Mark, but the lack of appetite was a symptom, not a rebellion. Demons didn’t need to eat.

The guards other description - bored and disgruntled - was just what someone might see if they did not know, nor speak to Dean. Dean was not bored, he was in despair. He was not disgruntled, he was filled with a rage unlike Harry had ever seen before. It was at the same time artificial, but made all too real. Dean could recognize that the rage came from the Mark, not himself, but it’s constant unrelenting pressure and Dean’s inability to fight against it, caused Dean to be filled with his own rage directed at imposed rage - and thus they fed each other.

Harry tried, when he visited, to talk Dean into more pleasant areas of thought. He attempted to update Dean on their progress, how everyone was working hard. But Dean’s despair overrode all efforts on Harry’s part. Dean could see only one way out and that was death - death somehow made permanent.

Dean had outlined his solution to Harry on their first visit - trying to sway Harry to the plan. Now, on each subsequent visit, Dean would simply snark at Harry’s attempts to discuss anything else. Dean wanted only the ingredients he needed to summon Death - which, for some reason, included the ingredients for a few Mexican dishes and access to an oven.

“Death likes food,” Sam explained, in the lull between Harry and Dean’s conversation.

“Pardon?” Harry asked, caught off guard. It was the first time Sam had spoken since they had entered the memory.

“The face you made,” Sam gestured to the memory of Harry. “You didn’t understand why he needed tortillas. I’ve only seen Death uh… twice, no, three times, I guess, maybe… my point is, last time Dean summoned him, he made sure to have some good junk food around to make uh…” Sam shrugged without finishing his sentence.

_ An offering _ , Harry thought, but he didn’t say it outloud.

In front of them, the memory of Dean was telling Harry that death was the only solution, and the longer it took him to realize that, the more he put the wizards of Azkaban in danger.

“You going to show this to Draco?” Sam asked, not taking his eyes off his brother.

“Already have - this is from yesterday,” Harry replied. “Full cooperation between departments - I offered that Malfoy could come out and visit Dean himself, but… well, the prison is full of people who want Malfoy dead. I think he’s afraid to come within 100 miles of it.”

Sam laughed, humourlessly. “They want you dead too.”

“Perhaps, but Draco betrayed them - he testified against them,” Harry replied. “I was the enemy from the start, but people view a betrayal as a far more serious crime.”

“Yeah, they do,” Sam replied, his eyes darting to Harry and then away again.

Harry’s heart picked up speed in his chest. He couldn’t help it.

They fell silent again. They watched as Harry bid farewell to Dean - Dean hit the bars of his cell and they rattled ominously. The cell bars shouldn’t have been able to rattle - Harry didn’t mention that to Sam.

They were running out of time.

“You’ll take me with you tomorrow,” Sam said.

“Sam-”

“You’ll take me with you tomorrow,” Sam repeated. 

Not even a second later,  the memory of Dean called out in a matching tone of voice.

“The only option is death - yours or mine, Harry - that’s your choice.”

With a flick of Harry’s wrist, they were out of the pensive and standing in the study at Grimmauld Place.

“I’ll take you with me tomorrow,” Harry agreed. 

“I’ll be at Draco’s, send me an owl with a time and place to meet you,” Sam ordered, and then he turned and left the room.

Harry took a deep breath and collected the memory from the pensieve, and re-sealed the labeled vial. If Draco disagreed with Sam’s visit, then Harry would leave it to him to tell Sam - he had more practice at being the bad guy.

*

This was a different kind of torture for Dean. In Hell, he’d been physically and psychologically tortured, but he’d still been himself - he’d been himself right up until he couldn’t take it anymore and had to, by necessity, be someone else. And then, at least, the pain had ended - and it was euphoric, becoming that other person, who was less of a person and more of a twisted thing that carved pain into others rather than feel it himself.

And now - now he was a twisted thing with nothing to carve, no pain to inflict. Instead all that energy just built and built under his skin, until it felt just the same as it had before - when Alistair was leaning over him - only there was no bite of the knife to release it, no bleeding to carry the madness away. 

He’d tried punching the wall, only to have it absorb the blow like it was a mattress not a stone wall. The wizards had him in a goddamn padded cell, and wasn’t that just the final nail in the coffin of any hope Dean had. No, that wasn’t right. It was when they started constantly drugging him. Harry told him, straight up, what they were doing - seeing how the curse reacted to different magical ingredients and remedies. Harry said they were hoping to find something to help - so far, the drugs had only made it worse.

It was one thing to be trapped with no means of releasing the energy building up under his skin - it was another to not even have the energy or ability to move his limbs properly, to think beyond the speed of slow molasses. But slow molasses or not, Dean knew the significance of the potions all being sedatives. Harry promised they were working on a cure, but so far, Dean had only seen evidence that they were working on a way to put him under for good. 

He couldn’t blame them. When he thought about it - whenever he had the ability to think about it - he knew that if they couldn’t cure him, and they couldn’t kill him, then indefinite sedation was the only option. He hoped they’d be able to convince Sam - he hoped Sam wouldn’t waste his life looking for a cure, or worse yet, get that damned book back and actually find one.

Harry came by every second day or so. Dean was keeping tally marks on the wall. He may have missed a day or two in there due to being sedated, but the tallies for Harry-visits were still only half as long as the tallies for days Dean had been there. 

Today wasn’t likely to be a day with visitors, which was why Dean was surprised when the door at the end of the hall creaked open outside of a mealtime. Dean didn’t bother getting up, mainly because whatever they had him on today was making his legs pretty heavy. He turned his head and watched as a figure in a black cloak walked up to his cell, their heavy hood drawn forward obscuring the face entirely. It was like an old-school grim reaper costume, only Dean knew that was probably just how some wizards dressed.

The stranger waited for the door to close again behind the guard before he pulled his hands out of his pocket - really pale hands - and carefully folded the hood back.

“Hey Drake,” Dean greeted.

“Dean,” Draco smiled. “It’s good to see you.”

Dean huffed a humourless laugh. 

“No, it isn’t.”

Draco’s smile vanished and Dean knew he should feel bad, but he honestly didn’t care.

“Straight to business then,” Draco said, his spine straightening. Dean blinked slowly and thought back to the first time they had met - in that dark corridor in the Department of Mysteries. He’d been cold and aloof then too. It seemed eons ago now, far more years than it actually had been. “How much has Potter told you about the current state of affairs?” Draco asked, and Dean’s attention snapped back to the present. 

“The Department of Mysteries is trying to cure me,” Dean recited. “If they can’t, I get shoved in some box somewhere - not even here, still too many people here - I could get out if I really tried. It’s only a matter of time until the drugs don’t take at all. No, I get shoved in some box somewhere, under the sea, buried alive, I don’t know. But they take me out of the picture.”

“Right,” Draco said, his voice not as strong as it was before. Dean pitied him, he knew that Draco had been trying to appear… unbothered. But when Draco spoke again, his voice was back to a steady tone, “You’ll remember that I work in the Department of Mysteries?”

Dean nodded.

“Well, I’m here to report that we have a potential cure,” Draco said, smiling again. 

Dean had to admit, he was surprised - not so much at the fact that they thought they’d found something - but more that he thought it’d take them longer. 

“This cure based off that book Sam stole?” Dean asked, staring at the wall in front of him rather than looking at Draco.

“We used it for reference, but not-”

“Nothing good will come out of that.” Dean shook his head, then turned his gaze back towards Draco. “You must have felt it - how evil that thing is.”

“Yes,” Draco admitted. “But we didn’t-”

“Listen, if the cure inside that book even works, it’s not worth it.” Dean made sure to hold eye contact, because this was important for Draco to understand. “And I’ll tell you right now, if it does have a cure, I’m willing to bet it’s the only thing that will fucking work - and anything else - anything else you’ve deluded yourself into believing is just… false hope. This is what I am now. This is what I’ve done to myself. So, you better start focusing on plan B - because your plan A is just going to… it’s just going to disappoint, and I can’t make any promises about letting you get me back here. I can’t make any promises that I’m not going to hurt the first person who touches me.”

To Dean’s surprise, Draco didn’t argue, he nodded - like he agreed. He could have been patronizing Dean, but…

“Harry mentioned you had your own Plan B,” Draco said. “Do you… do you want to tell me about that?”

Dean braced himself on the edge of his cot and then pushed his heavy legs up to standing. Draco watched him as he made his way towards the front of the cell, heavy legs be damned. It finally sounded like someone might listen to him.

“I summon Death,” Dean said, his voice lowered in case there were guards listening from beyond the door at the end of the short hall. “I ask him to kill me - dead, completely, not… not in heaven or hell, just gone.”

“And how do you summon Death?” Draco asked, his own voice low to match Dean’s.

“There are two options,” Dean explained. “One is a summoning, fairly straightforward, but special ingredients so you get Death himself. Also, it’s good to have some… snacks ready, just to… smooth things out a little once he arrives. Second option, you die - now, that ain’t an option for me, because I die, I become a demon, but-”

“But, it’s possible we could put you in a death like state,” Draco finished. “I believe Sam mentioned-”

“Yeah,” Dean replied. “I wasn’t there, but apparently Harry’s shifter boy did something like that to Sam and him last year, and they were able to talk to Tessa.”

“Death is named Tessa?” Draco asked.

“Tessa’s a reaper, but a reaper can get an audience with Death if you ask nice enough,” Dean replied. “Why are you asking me about this? Harry wouldn’t even hear me out.”

“Potter is an idiot,” Draco replied, but then didn’t answer Dean’s question.

Dean raised an eyebrow and waited.

“I have my doubts,” Draco said on a sigh. “I want the cure to work, of course I do - however… attempting to cure the Mark of Cain is…”

“Impossible?” Dean suggested.

“Asking a lot.” Draco glared. “And if our cure fails… well, then it’s up to Harry to… secure you. And this is where he will fail. People put trust in him because he defeated the Dark Lord, but that was mostly luck, Granger, and the Dark Lord’s own stupidity. The Mark of Cain is not likely to be… as foolish in its construction.”

Dean huffed a bitter laugh and shook his head.

“I want a backup plan that I can rely on,” Draco continued. “Yours is the most… sensible,  at this point.”

Dean considered. His instinct was telling him not to believe a word, because - well, maybe it was just because Harry was so horrendously optimistic during his visits - to the point where Dean was nauseated by it. Dean realized that he had just assumed everyone in Harry’s camp had been the same. But looking at Draco’s eyes now, Dean realized that he really wasn’t in Harry’s camp - had never been. He was an alright guy, but it was the kind of alright that reminded Dean a little of… his father, if he were to be honest. There was a desire to do good, but also the hard knowledge of reality, the hard edge that could do what needed to be done in a situation in order to get the job done. Dean’s plan was what needed to be done in order for everyone to survive.

“So, what’s the plan?” Dean asked. “‘Cause I’ll bet you a Bunker in Kansas that Harry is not down with this.”

Draco broke eye contact and took a deep breath. 

“We can’t do a summoning, there’s no way I could… the logistics would be difficult, even this audience with you today was hard to organize without too many questions.” Draco looked back at Dean. “However, I’ve been meeting with Teddy Lupin in relation to the cure.” Dean lifted and eyebrow and Draco explained, “There’s a potion component, and he’s currently the lead researcher in his field, believe it or not. My point is - well, you’ve met the boy, you know how he likes to babble. He told me about what he did for Sam last year - the modification on the Draught of Living Death - and then Harry mentioned your idea - well, I was spending a lot of time in Lupin’s lab, and he was often distracted by his work. I managed to abscond with the necessary ingredients.”

“Do you have it with you?” Dean raised his eyebrows, wondering why Draco hadn’t just led with that.

“No,” Draco replied, seemingly offended for some reason. Then the guy’s blue eyes  turned earnest, and Dean was reminded so much of Cas, that he had to look away. “Dean, despite my misgivings, I do want to at least TRY the cure first.”

“Then  _ what’s the plan _ ?” Dean growled, at the end of his patience with this beating around the bush.

“The  _ reasons _ for my misgivings,” Draco’s voice was now soft, in direct opposition to Dean’s growing anger, “is that there’s a component to the cure that requires you to be a willing participant. If you aren’t willing to give it a chance, it won’t work. It may not work if you  _ are _ willing to give it a chance, but it  _ definitely _ won’t work if you don’t. Tomorrow, Harry will come to collect you. He’ll bring you to the Celestial Chamber of the Tuatha Dé Danann- like you used in Boston with Harry years ago. Before we enter, I’ll require you to drink a potion. If you are willing to give the cure a chance - if you want to live - you give me a signal and I’ll give you the potion that Teddy has painstakingly crafted. If you believe your own solution to be the best path, and you’d prefer death, then you give me a different signal and I’ll give you the Draught of Living Death. I’ve… worked in a delay to that one, so that you will not be rendered unconscious until we are in the room and the cure is already underway, that way - well, that’s mainly to make it look like an accident.”

“Smart. This prison sucks,” Dean replied. “What’s the signal?” Because Dean only needed to remember one signal, and he knew which it would be. Anything else was just prolonging the danger to the world and wearing Dean’s patience thin.

“When you greet me, call me Drake if you want to live. If you’d prefer to die, call me Malfoy.”

Dean nodded. Easy enough, both would fly right under Harry or Sam’s radar. 

“My only worry is Sam,” Draco continued.

“He won’t know,” Dean replied.

“No, I mean - if you… if you choose to die,” Draco replied, his voice catching slightly, before he seemed to shake it off. “He’ll be devastated. I’m not sure how we’ll handle that - what comfort we can be. We’re near strangers - but yet, if he goes back to America, it’s to what? An empty bunker in Kansas?”

“He’ll be okay,” Dean dismissed. “He’s managed before without me. And he’s got Cas - Cas will look out for him - so will Jody. She was there for him when I… uh, last year. She’s a good friend.”

“You and Sam have never spoken of her,” Draco said, raising his eyebrows. “Is she a Hunter, or…?”

“Sheriff of Sioux Falls, South Dakota,” Dean replied. “She’s cool though. Got hip to the game when her family was killed by zombies.”

“I see,” Draco said, a look of horror on his face that made Dean want to laugh. “Do you think I should get in touch with her, for Sam’s sake, if you… if there’s no hope for the cure?”

“Yeah, maybe, give her a heads up,” Dean replied. “We’ve sent a couple of teenagers to her recently - you know, kids who don’t have anyone left. She’s been real good about making a home for ‘em, even though they aren’t anything to her.. So, you know, it might be good for Sammy - have someone like that to look out for him.”

Draco gave Dean a nod, and Dean felt better that Sam would be cared for.

“I should go,” Draco said. “But think about what I said, consider your options carefully. I’m willing to put hope in the cure if you are.” Draco drew up his hood. “See you tomorrow, Dean.”

“See you tomorrow, Malfoy,” Dean called after him, and couldn’t help the bitter pleasure at seeing the slight pause in Draco’s gait at the words. It was better, Dean thought, that Draco got used to the idea now, rather than blow the plan by being overly disappointed at the crucial moment tomorrow.

*

Astoria had just sat down with a cup of tea when the fireplace roared green and Sam Winchester tumbled out into a heap. 

“Oh dear, we really should put cushions down, I’m sorry, Sam.”

“It’s fine,” Sam bit out as he climbed to his feat. 

Angry again, then. Astoria felt her heart speed up, but she kept the grip on her tea firm, her movements smooth. She had a wand in her pocket and Sam meant her no harm. He was only angry at someone else, somewhere else - and had carried it home with him.

“Would you-” Astoria started to say, but Sam cut her off.

“I’ll be in the library. Tell Draco to find me when he gets home.”

“Of course,” Astoria answered, but Sam barely looked at her as he marched out the door. Really, she should be offended that she was being treated like some sort of secretary for her husband. She should be offended that some muggle dared speak to her so shortly in her own home - but she would be a fool to let that offense take root. When Sam smiled, he was all boyish charm - but Astoria knew that every muscle in his body was trained to kill. He may have been a boy once, but that boy was now a lethal weapon. Sam was a good person, and Astoria trusted him, but she knew that whatever was affecting his brother - whatever project Sam had come to help Draco with at work; and she wasn’t daft enough to believe the two weren’t connected - it was wearing Sam down as well, and only getting worse. 

The fireplace roared green again and Draco stepped out gracefully.

“Thank Merlin,” Astoria said.

“I’m happy to see you too, my love,” Draco replied, raising an eyebrow, as he walked over to give her a kiss in greeting.

“Sam just returned from seeing Potter,” Astoria explained.

“Ah,” Draco replied. “How angry is he?”

“Well, I don’t think the tumble out of the fireplace helped,” Astoria sighed. “Am I paranoid in thinking that Potter angers him on purpose before sending him back here?”

Draco smiled a sad smile, and Astoria’s heart sank a little.

“Things are getting worse, I’m afraid,” Draco replied, then his smile turned soft and genuine.. “But tomorrow may be better.”

Astoria nodded, and relayed Sam’s request for Draco to speak with him in the library. Draco kissed her again gently, and went to go speak with an angry hunter alone, in a secluded room, with no witnesses. Astoria wasn’t worried - she wasn’t - because Slytherin’s weren’t known for their bravery, which meant that Draco knew perfectly well that he was completely safe with Sam, despite the Hunter’s mood. But, nevertheless, Astoria found that drinking tea in the sitting room was not going to help her nerves, she needed a distraction. Perhaps it was time to make the shopping list for the house elf’s next trip to the market, they needed to make sure they had Scorpius’ favourites on hand, after all. 

Astoria stood to take her half finished cup of tea back to the kitchen. Making her way out of the sitting room and down the hall.

“What do you mean you’ve already been?” Sam’s voice carried down a separate hallway just ahead. Astoria realized that Draco hadn’t made it all the way to the library before he met Sam - and they’d stopped to talk in the hallway, rather than close themselves away. Really, the right thing to do would be to carry on to the kitchen and not listen in.

Slytherins, as it happened, were also not known for always doing the right thing. Astoria couldn’t help but pause, hidden around the corner. Perhaps it was some sort of protective instinct, perhaps it was curiosity about the project. Draco never spoke about his work, but Astoria knew enough to know what subject matter he researched, she knew enough to wonder at how it was being applied to whatever ailment had befallen the angry hunter’s brother.

“It’s happening tomorrow, I’ve set the plan in motion,” Draco replied. “Just as we discussed.”

“I thought you were going to give me a warning!” Sam exclaimed. “You said I’d get a chance to visit him before it happened! I finally got Harry to agree to take me there and everything!”

“Oh, good, then that saves me the trouble,” Draco replied. 

“What?” Sam did not sound pleased.

“Sam,” Draco said firmly. “You will visit your brother tomorrow, just as you say. I already told him that you and Harry would be picking him up and traveling with him to Chamber.”

There was silence for a moment, and Astoria wished desperately that she could see their faces.

“Will it work?” Sam asked. 

“If you don’t trust me,” Draco replied. “Then trust yourself. Will it work?”

Astoria heard the breath that Sam let out. 

“Yeah, it has to,” Sam replied. Another long pause, and then Sam added. “Because if it doesn’t, I’m stealing the Benz and driving it to Aberdeen.”

“Well, we can’t have that,” Draco chided, a teasing tone suddenly in his voice. “You’ll put me in bad standing with the rental company.”

Astoria heard a huff of a laugh, and it was enough to ease the tension in her frame. She carried on walking towards the kitchen, stopping in the lip of the hallway as both Draco and Sam turned at the sound of her footsteps.

“Would either of  you like a bit of tea while you conspire?” 

“I  _ do _ enjoy a more civilized conspiracy.” Draco winked at her. She wondered if he had known she was listening. 

“Well, then you best put the kettle on, because I’ve got things to do,” Astoria replied with a smile, and then carried on her way.

Behind her, she heard Draco’s laughter ring out, followed by Sam’s low chuckle. 

And the last of her stress left her. They may have befriended an angry hunter, but Astoria only had to be reminded that the important part of that sentence was friend. They had nothing to be concerned about as long as that remained true.

*

“Sam’s back to not talking to us?” Teddy asked from the doorway, as Harry packed away his pensieve. Harry looked up at him and raised an eyebrow, so Teddy continued. “I asked him if he’d like to stay for tea as he stormed through the kitchen and he all but growled ‘no’ at me and then Flooed back to Malfoy Manor. Didn’t even respond to Kevin asking him if he was alright. Castiel is a little worried.”

“Dean’s not doing well,” Harry replied.

“Do you think  I should send some tea?” Teddy frowned.

“Tea’d be too weak,” Harry shook his head. “He’s taking potions like a half-giant.”

“Getting worse?” Teddy asked.

“Yeah,” Harry replied, then shook his head. “Uh, confidential case though - shouldn’t’ve told you that.”

“Do you think I should send some tea to Sam then?” Teddy smiled.

Harry huffed a laugh.

“Maybe - but he probably won’t drink it; he’s getting worse too,” Harry said, and smiled back. 

Teddy’s smile faltered.

“So, he  _ is _ angry with us,” Teddy said.

“Misplaced, but yeah,” Harry replied. “He wants me to take him out there to see Dean.”

“Do you think that’s wise?” Teddy asked.

“I’m leaving it up to Malfoy.”

“Ooo, throwing someone else under the bus,” Teddy laughed, “and you said you weren’t cut out for politics.”

“My own son, such hateful words,” Harry grasped his chest. Teddy laughed, his brown hair streaked with black and turquoise, and his eyes shining green.

“You’ve only yourself to blame,” Teddy countered. “What with raising me and all.”

“No, I think I’ll throw Dromeda under the bus for that,” Harry shrugged.

“A Black through and through, am I?” Teddy nodded towards the old tapestry.

“We always hoped the Tonks and Lupin would level you out, but alas…” 

Teddy barked a laugh. Harry got the same thrill at the sound of it as when he made Teddy giggle as a baby.

“Are my lunar related mood disorder and queerplatonic life-partner not enough?” Teddy faked shock.

“We’ll have to uncover ol’ Walburga and ask,” Harry declared.

“Oh Merlin, no,” Teddy shook his head, still laughing. “I have to live here!”

Harry laughed and slung his bag over his shoulder. The grim mood that Sam had left in his wake - that had been following Harry around ever since the Winchesters had come to Britain - seemed to have vanished if only for this instant, and Harry had Teddy to thank for that. Teddy, who he could joke with again, their strained relationship slowly being left in the past, where Harry wanted it so badly to belong. If it hadn’t been for Teddy’s trip to New York the previous year, Harry wasn’t sure they’d be at this point - and he owed what happened on that trip to the Winchesters - everyone owed so much to the Winchesters.

“You’ve gone away again,” Teddy said.

“Sorry,” Harry shook his head. “I was just… uh, back on the problem at hand, I suppose.”

“We’ll fix this, Harry,” Teddy said, ernest and confident. “We will.”

“Right now it’s all down to Malfoy.” Harry sighed. “And relying on Malfoy isn’t exactly a situation I’m comfortable with.”

“But it’s not the first time you have,” Teddy replied. “You relied on him in Boston, and he came through then. And you relied on him when Sam needed help - and he went above and beyond, if you ask me.”

“How’d you know about that?” Harry asked, dumbstruck. “I never-”

“You’re not the only person who was there, Harry,” Teddy answered.

“Oh, right,” Harry replied, because if Sam wasn’t at Malfoy Manor, he was usually at Grimmauld Place, and on top of that, Teddy had been living with Kevin for over a year and Sam and Dean may well have told him about Boston as well. “I’m an idiot, of course.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to say anything,” Teddy replied with a smirk.

“So much disrespect,” Harry muttered, then closed the distance between them and drew Teddy into a quick hug. “Thanks for cheering me up.”

Teddy nodded against the side of Harry’s head and patted him twice on the back, then straightened back up and turned to lead Harry back down to the kitchen. Harry could have traveled by the Floo in the study, but it was only polite to stop by the kitchen first and say goodbye to Kevin and Nate - given how their other houseguest had been so rude on his exit.

Harry could only hope that Malfoy would be able to calm Sam down a little at the Manor, before he met Harry for the trip to Azkaban. And how Harry was going to manage the trip without accidentally giving Sam too much information about Azkaban’s defenses was another problem altogether.

“Harry,” Teddy said, stopping Harry just outside the kitchen door. “If you can’t trust Malfoy, then trust me, alright? We’re going to cure him - we’re nearly there.”

Harry narrowed his eyes.

“What do you mean ‘we’?” he asked.

But Teddy just smiled and winked, his hair tinged with pink, and opened the kitchen door.

Nate, Kevin, and Charlie looked up from what appeared to be a disassembled mp3 player, or possibly one of those little fitness-tracking computers. Nate was holding his wand, and Kevin was holding a soldering gun, and Charlie was taking notes. Castiel was standing in the kitchen with his eyes closed and a look of concentration on his face.

“You get it working?” Teddy asked.

“For like, five minutes,” Kevin grumbled. 

“Hey, that’s five minutes and 50 seconds longer than I was expecting,” Nate said, optimistically. 

“Does this have to do with… uh, Dean?” Harry asked. Suddenly afraid that on top of worrying about Sam busting Dean out of Azkaban, he had to also worry about Charlie and three boys just out of their teens trying to cure him with some sort of magical pedometer.

“What?” Charlie said, bewildered. “No, we’re wondering if we can get the computer into the house.”

“Oh,” Harry replied. “Uh, carry on then.”

“You need help with Dean?” Kevin asked. “Draco didn’t mention it at our last briefing-”

“You had a briefing with Draco?” Harry asked. “He won’t tell me anything.”

“That’s probably because you haven’t asked,” Teddy said.

“Of course I-” Harry started, but Teddy raised his eyebrows, and Harry actually thought about it. “No, I haven’t, have I? Drat.”

“Old habits…” Teddy muttered. “He’s probably not offering information for the same reason, so don’t be too hard on yourself.”

“Sam’s fine now,” Castiel announced from the kitchen. Harry turned to him and raised his eyebrows, everyone else just nodded.

“Good,” Kevin replied.

“Don’t tell him I did that,” Castiel said to Harry, looking somewhat guilty.

“You can eavesdrop on him?” Harry asked.

“No,” Castiel replied. “But I can… sense his mood, due to our… unique connection. It’s not easy.”

Harry nodded, remembering all to well that Castiel was the filter that stood between Sam and trauma-induced madness. It was a sobering thought, as in Harry’s annoyance at Sam’s short-temper, he had to admit that he had forgotten the knife’s edge that Sam walked on every day. 

He said his goodbyes, and Flooed home, wondering exactly when it was that Teddy inherited his father’s wisdom - was it just something that happened to Lupin men in their early twenties?

Ginny kissed him as he entered the kitchen.

“Hi Harry,” she said, then handed him a letter. “This just came from Malfoy. It’s marked urgent, but I knew you’d be home in a minute.”

“Hi,” Harry returned absent-mindedly as he broke the ostentatious seal on the envelope and pulled out the letter.

_ Potter, _

_ I need to contact Sheriff Jody Mills of Sioux Falls, SD, as soon as possible, regarding the current matter of our mutual concern.  
_ _ Please see to it in all relevant official channels, as it involves breaking the Statute of Secrecy. _

_ Malfoy_  
_ Department of Mysteries  
Ministry of Magic_

Harry stared at the letter and resolved to talk to Malfoy first chance he got, because who the hell was Sheriff Jody Mills and why did she have to be informed about the Wizarding World?


	12. Chapter 12

Jody sorted the mail, it was too early for any of Claire’s paperwork to have gone through, but she checked nonetheless. The kid was quiet and withdrawn, when she wasn’t outright snarky - and Jody thought maybe if she had something to focus on, her attitude towards life in general might improve. Jody knew the girl was grateful for a place to stay, simply because she didn’t leave - but she also knew that Claire had a deep distrust of pretty much anyone over the age of twenty-five.

Jody wasn’t expecting the knock on the door, especially since she hadn’t heard a car pull up the driveway. The water shut off in the kitchen where Alex had been doing dishes, and there was a creak from down the hall where Claire had sulked off to her bedroom after supper.

A house full of post-traumatic stress, Jody rolled her eyes. It was just the door.

Jody opened it to find a short guy with messy black hair, round glasses, and a scar on his forehead. Behind him, stood a tall pale guy with a receding hairline and the blondest hair Jody had ever seen. They were quite the contrast to each other, especially since the blonde was in a really fine dark suit and the short guy was in jeans and a knit sweater with a large H on it. 

“Hello,” the short guy greeted. “Sheriff Jody Mills?”

“Depends who’s asking” Jody replied, but made sure to give him a smile. 

“My name is Harry Potter and this is Draco Malfoy, we’re friends of Sam and Dean Winchester.” British - weird. The last Brit Jody had met ended up being the King of Hell, apparently - and that was also courtesy of her connection to the Winchesters.

“You’re not more orphans are you, ‘cause usually they call first for those,” Jody raised an eyebrow. 

“Uh, well, I am,” Harry said, slowly. “Malfoy’s still got his parents, though there’s debate whether that’s a good thing.”

“Rude,” the tall one - Malfoy - replied. 

“I’m joking. You’re too old for my home for wayward teens anyhow,” Jody replied, she looked over her shoulder and smiled at where Alex and Claire both stood peering around corners towards the front door. Alex smiled back, Claire glared at the carpet. Shit. Jody really shouldn’t be joking about this crap. It hadn’t even been a month.

“May we come in?” Malfoy asked, looking around.

“Depends,” Jody turned back to them. “You lying about being friends just to get into my house? You plan to hurt me or my girls, you got another thing coming - I’ll tell you that right now.”

“We really are friends,” Harry replied, showing her his empty hands. “We need your help.”

Jody stepped back and jerked her head to tell them to enter, then shut the door behind them.

“Is there a hunt in the area?” she asked. “You want a drink? Coffee?”

Alex had disappeared, probably back into the kitchen, where she could eavesdrop. Claire, though, walked bold as brass into the living room, her eyes narrowed as she took in the two newcomers.

“A coffee would be lovely, thank you,” Harry smiled, seemingly immune to Claire’s glare - Malfoy (and Jody really wished she remembered his first name, Drake? Drogo?) raised an eyebrow at Claire in an almost challenging way, that didn’t go over well and Claire glared harder. It was only when Malfoy’s lip twitched that Jody realized he was riling her up on purpose.

“This is Claire, our newest recruit,” Jody introduced. “Alex is in the kitchen, MAKING US COFFEE!”

“Yes, Jody,” came Alex’s response, and Jody could practically hear the eyeroll.

“Nice to meet you,” Harry replied, and didn’t seem at all offended that Alex didn’t come out of the kitchen to say hello.

“Have a seat,” Jody told them, and motioned to the couch, while she sat down in the chair. 

“What’s the hunt?” Claire asked. 

“There’s no hunt,” Harry replied.

“We’re not Hunters,” Malfoy continued. “Quite the opposite in fa-”

Before Jody could reach for anything, Harry cut Malfoy off and held up his empty hands again. 

“We’re not the opposite of Hunters either!” He exclaimed. “Bloody Christ, Malfoy - think before you speak.”

Malfoy snapped his mouth closed and his eyes went a little wide, before he gave a glare to his companion.

“We’re a different sort of Hunter,” Harry replied. “Or at least I am - Malfoy just does research or some such.”

“Right,” Jody replied. 

“We’re Wizards,” Harry stated. 

“Witches,” Claire countered.

“Wizards,” Malfoy corrected.

“Alright, you’re going to have to explain more than that, because last time I met a British guy with witch powers, he also happened to be the King of Hell and tried to kill me - so right now, I’m not feeling too fond, you understand?” Jody replied.

“The King of Hell is British?” Malfoy asked. And it was really saying something that Jody relaxed a little at that, because it was genuine enough that she knew Malfoy had never met Crowley.

“That doesn’t matter,” Harry rolled his eyes - and that was less comforting, because he wasn’t surprised in the slightest.

“Well, it’s hardly good for the image,” Malfoy sulked.

“Listen,” Harry said, ignoring his companion. “Just like there’s a secret society of Hunters, there’s also a secret society of Wizards - only, it’s far more organized, more populated, and well more... “ he waved a hand in the air as if to explain the word he was looking for.

“Civilized,” Malfoy finished. Harry glared at him. “What? It’s not hard to be more civilized than Hunters, Potter. Don’t give me that look.”

“The statute of secrecy keeps the magical world hidden from non-magical society,” Harry continued, turning back to Jody. “It’s well - there’s a history there… reasons that we don’t need to get into. The point of telling you this is to explain that Sam and Dean came to us for help. Do you know about the curse afflicting Dean?”

Jody nodded. Still trying to wrap her head around what Harry was saying.

“Sam told me, yeah,” Jody said, when Harry seemed like he wanted to give her the rundown. “Last year, when Dean- uh, when Dean went missing, briefly.”

“He’s taken a turn for the worse,” Malfoy explained. “We’re trying to help.”

“I just saw him, he’s fine,” Claire interrupted, looking angry. “We played mini-golf. You’re lying. They’re lying, Jody!”

“Go help Alex with the coffee,” Jody ordered. 

“No,” Claire replied. “I just saw him like, three weeks ago - you know I did.”

Alex came around the corner carrying two cups of coffee.

“Jody?” she asked, not coming any closer than the invisible border between the dining room and the living room.

“Let me help you with those,” Jody said, standing up and removing the mugs from Alex’s grip, while Malfoy and Claire continued the glaring contest they’d begun earlier. 

“He seemed fine when you saw him last,” Malfoy spoke as Jody turned back around. Alex turned too, and went back to the kitchen to get the third mug. As Malfoy continued speaking, Jody realized that his voice was different than before, smooth and even, calming. “But what about the time before that? When you saw him kill those men, he saved you, and part of you is glad for it - but you’d never seen anyone kill like that before - not even all those years ago, when those demons took you-”

Jody moved on a hunch, and stepped between Claire and Malfoy, breaking the line of sight as she smacked the coffee down on the table with more force than necessary.

“That’s enough,” both her and Harry said at the same time. Malfoy blinked at her and she could see that she’d been right, his eyes took far too long to refocus.

“My apologies,” Malfoy replied, but it didn’t seem sincere. Jody decided friend of Sam and Dean’s or not, she didn’t like this guy.

“Claire?” Alex asked, setting Jody’s mug of coffee beside the chair as she moved towards Claire, who was wiping tears from her cheeks. Claire shrugged off Alex’s attempt at comfort.

“What’s wrong with him?” she asked, now in a small voice, that seemed to accept what the strangers said as the truth.

“He’s cursed,” Harry replied. “He’ll continue to get more and more violent until - well, he’s been told that he is destined to kill everyone he loves - including Sam.”

“And Castiel?” Claire asked.

The two strangers nodded.

*

Harry wasn’t entirely sure what he had expected when he and Malfoy took a portkey to Sioux Falls. He knew Jody Mills was a sheriff, and a hunter. Perhaps, Harry thought, he’d been expecting some mother figure - his only explanation of who Jody was had been given second hand by Malfoy before they left - someone Dean trusted, who had recently adopted two teenage girls. So, Harry had imagined her a little like the only other resident of Sioux Falls he had ever met - Bobby Singer, who had looked after two boys, albeit older than their teens. He had thought that perhaps she would be tough but comforting in the way most mothers were. But, Jody Mills was something else entirely. As soon as she opened the door and looked at them, Harry was brought back to a memory - a memory of someone else’s memory - of similar eyes reflected in a rearview mirror, similar salt-and-pepper hair at the temples, similar pain and strength in a hard glance.

Malfoy, of course, didn’t seem to realize that any Muggle even adjacent to a hunter, was a Muggle that needed to be treated with careful respect - and that went doubly for any Muggle who Sam and Dean could list as a trusted friend.

It was all Harry could do to try to control the situation, to put Sheriff Mills at ease and in the position of power in the room - and then Malfoy had to nearly screw it all up by using his  _ illegal _ legilimency abilities on one of the woman’s young charges.

“We’re working on a cure,” Malfoy said, once Jody had sat back down. The two girls were still standing, the blonde one - Claire, still trying to gather herself. Whatever memory Malfoy had retrieved was obviously not an easy one to relive. “I believe we’ve found one. However, to give it the best chance at working, we need seven participants. And these seven participants have to know Dean well. They have to think of him fondly. We have six. Dean, in his own way, recommended you for the seventh.”

“Okay,” Jody replied. “What do I need to do?”

Harry smiled. It wasn’t that he had ever doubted Dean’s word about Sheriff Mills’ friendship, it was only that he could see plainly that Draco had understated things when he had reported the situation to Harry.

“Come with us to England,” Harry answered. “Participate in the spell. If it works, you’ll only be gone two days. Can you leave your work on short notice?”

“Family emergency,” Jody replied. “I’ve done it before for those two - for that one too.” Jody nodded her head towards where Alex stood, still wary. Then Jody continued, asking the question he had hoped to avoid. “And if it doesn’t work?”

Harry looked at Draco.

“It will not harm you, or anyone, to participate,” Draco answered. “You may return home after two days either way.”

Harry sighed. He knew that wasn’t what Jody was asking.

“If it doesn’t work, we will have to incarcerate Dean until a cure is found,” Harry replied honestly. “He’s too great a danger to the society, not to mention his friends and family - if this spell doesn’t work… well, it would be good if Sam could have some friends around to support him - whether he stays in England or returns to the US.”

Jody simply nodded. Her expression grim.

“What about Castiel?” Claire asked.

“What about him?” Draco asked.

“Jody’s never met him,” Claire gestured to Jody. “I have. I should go too.”

“We need people for Dean, not-” Draco began.

“No, if it doesn’t work - Cas should have-” Claire stopped, glared at the floor, and then said, “No, fuck that. I’m staying here, I don’t care about-” then stopped again, then her glare turned back to them. “Fuck all this,” she declared, and then stormed out of the room, down a hallway, and slammed a door.

“Glad we had this talk,” Jody deadpanned to space that Claire had occupied a moment before. 

“Is there an issue with Castiel that we’ve neglected to address?” Draco asked with what looked to be genuine concern.

“No, Claire just- has had a hard time,” Jody answered. “She’s still sorting through some crap.”

“The angel is wearing her father’s corpse,” Alex announced.

“Thank you, Alex,” Jody rolled her eyes. “Real tactful.”

“That is… profoundly disturbing,” Draco replied, and Harry found himself nodding in agreement. He knew that Castiel had a vessel, but he never really… considered all the consequences of that. 

“Yeah, that’s why she’s so fucked up about him. Can’t decide if she likes him or hates him. I can’t blame her,” Alex continued.

“Perfectly understandable,” Draco nodded. “If she does not return before we depart, you’ll have to give her my condolences.”

“Why don’t you go check on her now, Alex,” Jody suggested. 

“She’ll just yell at me,” Alex replied, annoyed. “Besides, I wanna know how this is going to work - do you have to leave right away? Can we stay here alone? You trust her?”

Jody cast a glance at Harry.

“We’d prefer if you could leave right away, but if you need some time, just let us know and we can come back.”

“Let me make some phone calls.” Jody stood and pulled a phone from her pocket, but then pointed to Alex. “You two will stay here, but I’m going to get Donna to stop by.”

“Cool,” Alex replied, then flopped down in Jody’s chair, suddenly all confident bravado, instead of the timid and shy girl she had appeared to be before. “So, what can wizards do?”

*

After about 20 minutes of phone calls, five minutes of checking on Claire, and five minutes of throwing some clothes and a toothbrush into her bag, Jody walked back into her living room to find the wizards and Alex eating candy, and seemingly spitting out every third or fourth piece into napkins.

“But this is just like the canary thing? Why?” Alex was asking, holding the box of candy. “Why would anyone buy candy that’s just as likely to taste like charcoal as raspberries?”

“Well, there are some excellent drinking games involved,” Malfoy answered. “Though, I doubt the sheriff would approve of me introducing you to them.”

“You got that right,” Jody agreed. Malfoy turned and smiled at her, which meant that he knew she was there the whole time - but Alex startled a little, while Harry just continued to stare at Malfoy.

“Drinking game?” Harry looked baffled.

“Honestly, what did you do in Gryffindor? Just sit around being self-righteous?” Malfoy asked.

“Well, their story checks out,” Alex told Jody as she stood up. “Also, wizard candy is horrible. I’m going to go give some to Claire. You heading out?”

“Yeah, I’m all squared away,” Jody reached into her pocket and handed Alex half her cash. “That’s for emergencies. Donna will be here tomorrow at lunch. If she wants to hang out and stay over, give her my room - don’t let her sleep on the couch. If you don’t hear from me in three days-”

“Got it,” Alex cut her off. “Take care of yourself.”

Jody gave Alex a brief hug, before Alex waved at the two strangers in the room and sauntered out. Jody grabbed her coat.

“I didn’t hear you two pull up in a car, so how are we doing this?” Jody asked. “Are we taking my truck to the airport or-?”

“We’ll be traveling by magical means,” Harry replied, and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. “Hang on tightly to a corner of this, would you?”

When they were all three holding a corner of the cloth, and Jody was beginning to feel ridiculous. Harry said a single word, and then the handkerchief glowed, and Jody felt like she was hurtling through space and possibly time - it was terrifying.

Then suddenly it stopped, Malfoy grabbed Jody as she stumbled, disoriented and surprised to find herself standing on a sidewalk in a slight drizzle. They were on a city-street, a row of tall townhouses stood with their windows dark. If the architecture wasn’t enough to confirm where they were, the cars parked along the wrong side of the street all had european plates. 

“Whoa,” Jody said eloquently. 

“I’ll take my leave here,” Malfoy announced, releasing Jody’s arm now that she had steadied herself. “I have to get some sleep before the spell.” 

His eyes flicked briefly towards the houses, and he smiled slightly. 

“See you tomorrow, Malfoy,” Harry said. 

“Goodnight,” Jody offered, still feeling a little out of step with reality.

Malfoy nodded and then disappeared with a small popping noise. 

“Okay…” Jody said, eloquently.

Harry laughed and handed her a piece of paper. 

“Read this.”

_ 12 Grimmauld Place. _

“Now look back at the houses.”

Jody lifted her head to see a house slide itself out of nowhere. Unlike the other houses, it had a soft glow coming from its front window and it’s porch light was on.  It was a little point of welcome on the otherwise dark street. 

They walked up, and Harry knocked on the door softly - so softly, Jody had to wonder who on earth could possibly hear it. A moment later, the door was opened by a tall young man with mousy brown hair, and green eyes. 

“Hi, welcome, I’m Teddy, you must be Jody,” the young man says in a soft near whisper, ushering them into the narrow foyer. He must have caught something on Jody’s face, because he smiled and added, “Time difference. Everyone is asleep. They’re looking forward to meeting you in the morning.”

“Who all is here?” Jody asked. She knew that they needed her as a seventh, but she never did ask who the other six were.

“Kevin, Charlie, and Cas,” Teddy answered. “Sam’s staying at Malfoy Manor.” 

Jody nodded, but realized she had never actually met any of Sam and Dean’s other friends - only Bobby, and Donna. 

“I have to get home,” Harry interjected, obviously addressing Teddy, not Jody. “Are you okay for feeding everyone breakfast in the morning? I’ll be by to pick them up before lunch, but-”

“Yes, dad,” Teddy rolled his eyes. “I’m a grown man who owns his own house. I think you can trust me to have bought eggs.”

“Fine, fine, sorry, sorry,” Harry muttered, then pulled Teddy into a hug.

Jody felt something in her relax, some anxious muscle in her chest unclench. Teddy was Harry’s son. Any lingering doubts of Harry not being who he said he was vanished.

Harry made his quiet goodbyes, and then left. Teddy lead Jody up a few flights of stairs to a bedroom that had been made up for her. 

“I know it’s early still for you,” Teddy said as Jody put her dufflebag down on the bed. “Castiel doesn’t sleep, so if you want to stay up longer, I’m sure you’re welcome to join him in the study. He’s been making his way through my bookshelves.”

“Thanks,” Jody replied, and followed Teddy back down the stairs, until they reached the third level, where they parted ways.

“It’s one more flight down,” Teddy reminded Jody. “Oh, also, I’m a metamorphmagus, which means that I can change my appearance at will. So, don’t be surprised if I look different in the morning?”

“Oh,” Jody replied, still caught on the unknown word. 

Teddy winked a suddenly brown eye at her and slipped into his bedroom.

Shaking her head, Jody turned and found her way to the study - a task made easy by the open door and soft light that was coming from it.

Castiel sat on the window bench reading. Jody had never met an angel before, so she wasn’t quite sure what to expect. She wasn’t sure if she had expected the quiet dark-haired guy in a slightly disheveled suit and trench coat who looked up at her.

“Hello, Jody,” he greeted.

“Hi, Castiel. It’s nice to finally meet you,” Jody returned.

“Likewise,” Castiel nodded. “Thank you for looking after Claire. I regret my failure to protect her family.”

Jody nodded, because what do you even say to a situation like that.

“You mind if I join you?” Jody asked, changing the subject.

“Please,” Castiel gestured to the other end of the bench seat. “I am reading about wizard society, there is much that I did not know.”

“Well, I’m sure you still know more than me - seeing as how I didn’t know they existed until about two hours ago.”

“I recommend you start with this one.” Castiel handed her a book from the stack on the floor beside him.

“Thank you,” Jody replied. And spending the evening reading books about wizards with an actual bonafide Angel of the Lord was perhaps not how she envisioned the day turning out - but, as she settled in, it felt a little like that time she had stayed up all night with Sam going through Bobby’s old boxes, and a nostalgic sort of peace settled over her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! It's been a crappy day for a lot of people in the world, so I thought I'd post a chapter in the small hope it might bring a needed smile to someone's face.
> 
> Also, in good news, I've now finished writing this fic, so I'll be updating more than once per week now - I still have to do a final editing pass on the remaining chapters, and I also don't want to overwhelm email notifications, so it won't be going up all at once... just more often. 
> 
> In other good news (to some), I may have accidentally thought of another story for this 'verse, so while I think this will be the last SUPER LONG fic in the demented'verse, it might not be the last fic completely... we shall see if this plot bunny pans out.


	13. Chapter 13

Sam wasn’t sure if the anxious mess in his chest was out of fear or excitement. Despite all his reading, he wasn’t quite sure what to expect from Azkaban - or maybe he knew exactly what to expect from Azkaban and just didn’t know what to expect from Dean.

It was a journey to get there, and would be a journey to get back. If Dean wasn’t willing to co-operate, it’d be even harder to get back - but Sam tried not to think too much of that scenario. Sam hoped that if he tried really hard, he could be optimistic enough for the both of them.

Draco had apparated him to the shore that morning, before taking off to who knows where. Harry and two other Aurors, one of whom was Till, had been waiting by a small dinghy with an outboard motor. Sam greeted Harry by name, but only nodded at Till and the other Auror. Officially, Sam wasn’t supposed to know Till already. It was a shame, because Sam had a strong urge to ask Till to recite the plan to him again - Sam thought that hearing it spoken in that calm soft voice might quell the raging sea of emotions currently doing battle in his chest.

Or maybe that was sea sickness. Sam focused back on the horizon and tried to breathe through the nausea. He had to look behind them to find the horizon line. In front of them, even though it was a sunny day on the water, there was a heavy mist waiting. Sam knew that it was the perimeter ring of Dementors. He could already feel them and they were still at least a mile away. There was a whisper of a word to Sam’s right, and a giant blue glowing Irish Wolfhound appeared in the boat and settled down at his feet. Sam couldn’t help but smile at it - then looked over and caught Till’s answering smile.

Something in the mess of emotion in his chest loosened, not all of it, but some. Sam found himself wishing the dog were real, he really wanted to pet it.

They passed through the mist without incident, and as it cleared on the other side, a large stone structure suddenly loomed out of the ocean - stark and grey against the blue sky.

They pulled up to an old dock that looked half beaten to death by the North Sea. Several wizards in uniform met them, greeting Harry, but largely ignoring Sam. Sam ignored them too. Instead he looked at the walls, the windows, the entrance to the dock. He counted the number of guards stationed at the gates and in the corridors. 

They were led down, not up, which Sam shouldn’t have been surprised by, really. The stone was damp, the air smelling of salt and seaweed. The unknown Auror they had come with seemed to have stayed with the boat, because by the time they reached a narrow corridor lined with guards, it was just Sam, Harry, and Till.

“Can I go in first alone?” Sam asked. 

“There are monitoring spells,” Harry told him, which meant that Sam really wouldn’t be alone - but he’d at least feel like he was alone, and that would have to do.

Sam nodded and went through the door at the end of the hallway, following the corridor on the other side until he came to stand in front of Dean’s cell.

Dean was standing, arms crossed, waiting for him.

“Was wondering when you’d get here,” Dean greeted. “I’ve been waiting all morning. Today’s the day, huh.”

“Yeah,” Sam replied. “How’d you know-”

“They didn’t sedate me,” Dean answered. “Look, Sam, this isn’t going to work - you know it, I know it - they’re going to have to put me down somehow, and… and if they figure out a way to do it, I need you to not fight them on it, okay?” 

“Dean-” Sam started.

“No, listen,” Dean continued. “I’ve thought about it, and the world is better off without me in it, Sam. And - and it’s better off without you too, so you… you gotta make that promise again, and this time I need you to keep it.”

“You got mad the last time-”

“I was an idiot,” Dean cut a hand through the air. “All we do is hurt people, Sam. The decisions we make - they aren’t… they aren’t for the greater good, and you know it.”

“What are you-”

“Sam, you said it yourself - I talked you out of closing the gates of hell, not for the good of the world, but because I didn’t want to lose you. Same reason I let Gadreel in, and then… and then even when I thought getting this Mark would help atone for that, would let me kill Abaddon and save some people, in the end, it’s just made me a monster. And how many people have you let die while you try to save me? Huh? That book, the Stynes, working with Rowena, hell, just letting her live because she might be able to help you. Face it, Sam - we’re both monsters. If the wizards can stop me - and I mean really stop me - they should. If you… if you retire, maybe they won’t need to stop you too.”

“No, Dean,” Sam argued, his heart breaking. “You’re not a monster - you’re a good man. It’s just the curse-”

“No, I deserve the curse,” Dean argued. “Look at our history, Sam. All evil does is follow-us around. And we fool ourselves into thinking it’s the other way around - but it’s not, Sam. Everywhere we go, people die - our family, or friends - we were cursed long before I got this mark on my arm. We say we’re fighting evil, but we’re not, we’re… we…”

“We are not evil, Dean,” Sam argued. “We’re not perfect, but we are good. Dean, we’re good. You and me - not that thing on your arm, but us.”

“You’re wrong,” Dean replied.

“You’re never going to win this argument.” Sam shook his head. “But please - just, give today a chance. If it doesn’t work… if it doesn’t work, then we can discuss options. But don’t give up before you even try - I know you, Dean. I know you’re good and you deserve to live. You deserve to be free of that curse - so let us save you, please. Let us at least try to save you.”

They stared at each other for a long moment, and Sam really hoped, against all hope, that there was still a shred of Dean left that he might have reached. 

Dean nodded. Sam nodded back. It’d have to be enough, though he had hoped for words and tone that he could measure. If Dean decided to break away from them before they got to the chamber, all would be lost.

“I’ll get Harry,” Sam said.

Everything moved quickly after that. Sam told Harry that Dean was willing to cooperate, and Harry and Till came into the room with the person who Sam figured had to be the warden.

They weren’t taking the boat back. Instead, Harry took Dean and Till took Sam, they had the anti-apparation wards lowered for five seconds, and they apparated all the way to County Meath, in Ireland, and the  Celestial Chamber of the Tuatha Dé Danann \- said to be the oldest, and most powerful of its kind.  

They arrived in an old stone corridor, lined with Aurors and Wizards in dark robes with deep hoods pulled over their heads to hide their faces. The building was so old that Sam swore he could feel it in his bones. It looked half decayed, and Sam would have questioned why the wizards didn’t keep it maintained better, but part of him knew - just knew - that they were restricted by what the ancient stone allowed.

Harry and Dean arrived a moment later, and Sam could feel the shift in the air - so, it seemed, could all the wizards, who either flinched or whose shoulders went tight. Dean hadn’t seemed any different in Azkaban, or in the months before, but here, Sam felt as though Dean were some sort of vortex - some swirling mass of darkness that felt hungry for more of the same.

Part way down the corridor, a sudden break from the dark colours of the wizard robes, were Kevin, Charlie, Cas, Hermione, and Jody, standing in a small cluster. Just beyond them, were Draco and Teddy, standing behind a folding table that had been placed purely, it seemed, for the purposes of holding two picnic baskets. The modern folding table seemed entirely out of place in such an ancient building, that Sam almost wanted to ask them to remove it.

Dean beat him to speaking though.

“This is cute.”

Harry didn’t answer Dean, and no one else commented. Harry led them both towards the group of people waiting for them. They all gave smiles, but it seemed the ominous atmosphere kept them from talking. Dean was looking increasingly uncomfortable though, and Sam realized that while he had been prepared to see their friends, Dean hadn’t been - and Sam knew Dean had been avoiding some of them for months, no doubt not wanting them to see how bad he had gotten.

“Hey boys,” Jody bravely greeted. Sam gave her a thankful smile.

“Hey Jody.”

She pulled Sam into a hug, thumped his back twice, and then went to hug Dean, only Dean stepped back and shook his head.

“Okay,” Jody held up her hands and stepped back. “Another hug for Sam as your proxy then.” Jody pulled Sam down into a hug once again, and this time squeezed him tightly. Sam squeezed back.

“I want in on this,” Charlie announced, as Jody stepped back, and then Charlie had her face pressed to Sam’s chest and her arms snaked around his middle. Sam wrapped his arms around her shoulders. “Proxy hugs for Dean, actual hugs for Sam.” Charlie announced.

Sam couldn’t help but smile. He glanced a look at Dean, who was all but glaring at them. Sam looked down and realized that Charlie had her head turned in the hug and was glaring right back at Dean. 

“So, how will this work?” Sam asked, as Charlie stepped back. He wasn’t sure if the hugs were helping Dean’s anger or stoking it, and it was probably better to get down to the business at hand.

“Mr. Lupin and I have prepared potions for you all,” Draco explained, though Sam knew all this already, and no doubt, Draco had explained to the others before Sam and Dean had arrived - so this was largely for Dean’s benefit, and seemingly Harry’s, who Sam realized was looking at Teddy with his eyebrows raised.

“The dosages depend on weight, so they are prepared individually ” Draco continued. “The potions will not adversely harm you, they will simply keep you calm during the spellwork, as it is delicate, and overly anxious energy may adversely affect our chances of success.”

“When we give you the potion, don’t drink it right away,” Teddy picked up the explanation. His hair was a shiny light brown with a shaggy-look today, his eyes a mix of muted green and brown. He had dimples when he smiled. The effect was subtle, just a little push at the mind. “You must all drink at the same time, otherwise it’ll wear off at different intervals. Just hold the potion until we give the word. Then you’ll all drink, then Draco will take you into the chamber and perform the spell.”

“And these guys?” Dean gestured to the hallway lined with wizards. 

“Aurors and Healers,” Harry answered. “Also, some Unspeakables - that is, some employees of the Department of Mysteries, they’re here to support Draco.” 

“I believe there’s a bet at the office about whether I will fail or not,” Draco added in, casting a look at one of the hooded wizards in the hall and raising an eyebrow. “They’re here to observe and to help with the calibrations of the chamber.”

“Alright, let’s get the shitshow on the road then,” Dean commanded.

Both Draco and Teddy gave a forced smile and nodded, opening the side of the baskets closest to them, and resting the open lid on the handles. They’re friends formed a little line-up. Draco was silent as he handed out the potions in his basket, but Teddy handed out his with a dimpled smile and a follow-up of “here you are, enjoy!” or “there you go!”

Sam approached the table for his potion, Draco handed it over without a word. Then Dean stepped up to the table to get his. Sam watched as Teddy smiled brightly at him.

“Hey Dean!” Teddy greeted. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I want to tear your lungs out if you don’t shut-up,” Dean snarled. 

Teddy’s smile fell, and he hunched his shoulders, before he caught himself and forced a small smile, his dimples only half as deep as before. 

“Not well then,” Teddy nodded, eyes wide with sympathy. “Well, I really hope this helps. I’d love to spend time with you again.”

“It’s not safe, kid,” Dean returned, dismissive, and Dean seemed to be avoiding looking directly at Teddy. His eyes darted to Sam, and then quickly away again, then to the table.

“Hello Dean,” Draco greeted. 

Dean lifted his eyes to Draco, then away again, then back. The silence seemed to stretch on for an eternity, but in reality, it was probably only a second. Sam watched as Dean took a deep breath, closed his eyes, reopened them, and then said, in a whisper.

“Hey Drake.”

It was only then that Draco reached into basket and pulled out Dean’s potion, handing it over silently. He closed the basket right away afterward, then set it out of the way on the ground, and made his way over to a stone door in the wall, and the magical runes that surrounded it. 

Everyone in their group had a potion, except for Teddy, Draco, Hermione, and Castiel. Sam knew that Teddy wouldn’t be participating in the spell - Draco had cleared all the participants with him beforehand, and they only needed seven. Castiel didn’t need a potion either. Draco had explained to Sam that it was because Castiel was an angel. Sam thought that meant that the potion wouldn’t have worked, but Draco had laughed and said it was more a question of it being too dangerous if the potion  _ did _ work. Apparently brain hemorrhages made an impression on a guy.

“Uncork your potions,” Draco ordered, and everyone did so. “On the count of three, you will drink them, and place the glass bottle on the ground at your feet, and then enter the chamber.”

*

Draco activated the  knot engraving that slid the stone door open, then counted to three. He watched as everyone drank. Though Dean seemed to regret his, he still drank it completely, and that was all that mattered.

The nine of them entered the dark chamber. Draco being the last. Behind him, he knew the other Unspeakables were moving into position to operate the chamber. The chamber itself was dark stone, in the dim-light, it seemed ordinary, but Draco knew that the smooth stone walls were an illusion, they were filled with tiny bumps and pits, each dusted with crystals that would catch both magic and light easily. Once the chamber was in alignment, the old stone would be illuminated, it’s brilliance too powerful for the human eye.

In the centre of the chamber, there were 9 seats marked by a single cushion on the floor. The cushions were laid out in the shape of a teardrop, with the exception of a single seat that sat behind the one in the middle of the wide end. 

“Dean, you’re at the end there,” Draco pointed to the single seat at the top. “Sam to his right, Castiel to his left. Jody beside Sam, Charlie beside Castiel, Kevin beside Jody, Harry beside Charlie.”

Draco then sat down across from Dean, in the middle seat at the bottom of the teardrop, or, as the case may be, the top of funnel. 

“Hermione didn’t drink a potion,” Sam observed, as Hermione took her seat in the stray cushion behind Draco.

“Hermione is here only to act as my balance,” Draco replied. He could have explained what that meant, but they were losing time. “Next to your seats, you should all have a black eye mask. I suggest you wear them. We are going to be using the power of the sun. If you were to open your eyes, it would be painful.”

Around them, the chamber groaned as the Unspeakables outsides began to plead with it to shift position - and with a building this old, Draco knew that it was indeed an act of begging to get the stone to obey. Draco slipped on his own mask, catching briefly the sight of the other’s doing the same, before he drew it over his eyes and the world went black. 

Draco didn’t need his eyes to know when the chamber was in position - he could feel the room change, the sunlight finding its entry point, the tiny crystals in the stonework catching it, spreading it, until the cold stone was awash in warmth, until Draco could feel the light on his skin, the same as he would feel any caress.

Behind him, Hermione placed her hand gently on his back, on either side of his spine over his lungs. She whispered under her breath, the words inaudible over the echoing grind of stone - but as Draco breathed in, he could feel her magic flood into him, it was a heady rush. 

“We begin,” Draco announced, as he stretched his senses, through the stone, through the light. He did not need his eyes. He knew where each person sat in front of him. He knew where each of their minds were. He could feel the dark swirling power of Dean’s curse across from him. “ _ Legilimens. _ ”

 


	14. Chapter 14

 

Harry hadn’t known what to expect. He had tried to ask Hermione, and she had answered that it was not unlike the patronus charm that Harry had worked all those years ago for Sam and Dean in Boston. He had asked Draco, and Draco had said the same, but added, cryptically, that there was another component that Harry was even more familiar with than that. He hadn’t elaborated.

Now, Harry could only see the similarities to the protection charms, as Draco’s voice entered his head. Or maybe it wasn’t even his voice, maybe it was nothing more than a small nudge of a thought.

_Think of Dean._

_Tell us of him._

And Harry wanted to - so he did - but he knew he didn’t have to open his mouth to do so. He knew that he need only think, and Draco would understand - everyone in the room would understand - because Harry could feel them there, around him, also receiving the thought, also thinking. And he wanted to share this with them, his heart was full with the desire to do so.

He thought of Dean, as he first met him, a young man with the deep trauma of hell - of him eating chocolate cake with a glare. It had been at the time intimidating, but now only brought a smile to Harry’s lip. He thought of Dean’s care for Sam, his care for other people. He thought of Dean befriending Draco, much to Harry’s complete bafflement, because Harry had never seen anyone actually choose to befriend Draco for seemingly no reason other than to make a friend. He thought of Dean meeting his kids for the first time - of him letting Teddy chat at him unendingly and only smiling and nodding and listening - of how gentle he was with Lily - of the care he took with teaching the children at Hogwarts, how he respected them, laughed with them, and encouraged them to take pride in themselves.

He thought of the letter Dean wrote when Sam died. How the love was palpable then too. Dean’s love for Sam. Sam’s love for Dean. Harry’s love for them both. He thought of old houses, cabins, and Bobby’s scrapyard. He thought of Dean as he was, as he had been, with all his faults, trauma, and desperation, his bad decisions and short-temper - and he loved him. Because he did, because it was easy to do so.

He thought of all the times he offered his help - offered to join them fully in whatever fight they were undertaking - to join them on the front lines, in the trenches - and how they had refused him, told him to go back to his family. Harry had listened to them, because he loved his family and knew the pain losing him would bring - but he also knew that they would understand. Harry knew he had messed up somehow when he told Sam that for the time-being, Harry could only be contacted for research. He thought Sam understood, but apparently he hadn’t - because if Sam had called, if Sam or Dean called, and asked for him to join them, Harry would - and if it should mean his death, that would be a shame, but he would not regret it, because he loved them and it wouldn’t be the first time that Harry died for the sake of loving people too much to do otherwise.

*

_Think of Dean._

_Tell us of him._

Kevin smiled and thought of Dean as he first met him - scary and talking confusing nonsense. He thought of the realization that this intimidating man and his intimidating brother were trying to help Kevin - trying to protect him. He thought of long days alone on a boat, and a phone call or two, or ten, or more, with a voice saying “hang in there, kiddo,” and Kevin wanting so badly to hang in there - to help - to have something to say the next day. To hear that voice laugh on the phone. Dean was impatient, but always softened, always relented and understood when Kevin took too long with something.

He thought of Dean’s laughter and full body hugs that lifted him in into the air. He thought of Dean’s determination, of his worry. He thought of Dean showing him around the Bunker proudly. He thought of Dean’s worry for Sam. Of Dean’s love for them both - caught out and evident in his voice, his expression, when Kevin escaped Gadreel’s attack, but Dean thought he hadn’t.

Kevin thought about Dean, and how much he loved him - how he had become just as much Kevin’s older brother as Sam’s, in the brief year and a half they had spent fighting the same fight. Maybe they were more like uncles than brothers - Kevin had never had either, but he’d gladly have Dean and Sam.  And now Kevin was in the UK, and he was so protective, so protective of Sam and Dean, that - if he were to admit it - and he wanted to now, to be honest and admit it, because he was no longer afraid of judgment or awkwardness, or whatever it was that had been holding him back before - if he were to admit it, he would say that he took the job as the Men of Letters’ Representative in the UK because he loved them both, and if he could help in some small way, he would. They were worth it. Even if Gadreel had killed him, Kevin thought that helping them deal with this hidden nightmare world, even for a short time, would have been worth it.

*

_Think of Dean._

_Tell us of him._

Charlie’s mind jumped from movie nights, to pizza, to meeting Castiel - then back to reading about Dean and Sam’s lives in pulp book series. Then she thought of costumes and crowns, and Dean winking at her in a crimson tent over a map of a battlefield.

She thought of a voice in her ear, smoothly talking her through flirting with a security guard, and how in that moment he had been everything she needed. A steady calm presence that not only didn’t react poorly to her sexual orientation, but also had no qualms about flirting with a man vicariously through her not two seconds later - in his own way, telling her he was there with her, backing her up. That no matter what, she had him and Sam in her corner.

She thought of hugs, and words of comfort. She thought of his protective older brother habits, and how foreign they were at first - because Charlie had never had an older sibling - but she did now. She had someone who dived into nightmare dreamworlds to help give her the strength to defeat the final boss. She had someone who would hold her as she wept for a mother she’d lost at twelve. She had someone who saw the worst of her and the best of her, and loved them both without reservation.

And Charlie did the same, because how could she not. How could she not love Dean and Sam, as family - family found, after so many years alone. Dean in his protective love, Sam in his joyous companionship. Dean making fun of Charlie and Sam for being nerds, but saving it with such affection that Charlie knew he loved them for it - and then he’d join right in, and be just as nerdy himself, even while denying it. Charlie knew Dean was mad at her currently, for helping Sam with the Book of the Damned, but she also knew that she’d do it again - risk her life with the Stynes again, risk death again - if it meant that she could save him. If it meant that she could protect him like he always tried to protect her. And if it were Sam who was cursed, she’d do it for him too, and she knew Dean would understand that - that he just couldn’t see it for himself right now - but he was worth it, they were both worth everything to her.

*

_Think of Dean._

_Tell us about him._

Jody thought of a stranger in a diner booth that spelled trouble. She thought of a blood spattered man cornered by zombies in a closet. She thought of Sam Winchester with a shotgun at her side as a steadying presence, while Jody’s heart was in ruins. She thought of the relief on Sam’s face when they found Dean alive, of the relief on Dean’s face at being found by Sam, and how Jody had thought, good, good, at least they still have someone to love.

And she couldn’t tell when that distance had disappeared. She didn’t know when it had happened. Somewhere in the sucker punch that was Bobby Singer’s death, perhaps. But maybe before that - maybe it had started in the way Bobby said ‘the boys’ and ‘my boys’ and if he got rambling, or drinking, would tell Jody stories of these two ragamuffin kids who showed up on his porch one day with a walking devastation for a father. And Bobby had been lost to them just the same.

And maybe Jody had loved Bobby first, but the boys crept in there too - so that when Jody drove out to see them, a trunk full of someone else’s life - and they’d greeted her with a smile, and pulled her in… puller her in from the dead world and back into life, for all its honest terror and beauty.

Somewhere in there, somewhere between time travel and abused runaways, Jody had turned to the boys one day and thought, oh. ‘Oh. They have someone to love and it’s me too, and I have someone and it’s them. These two boys who were the sons of devastation and who pulled you in, until all you knew was that you would walk into hell for them any day.’

And if that wasn’t love, then Jody didn’t know what was.

*

_Think of Dean._

_Tell us of him._

Castiel pinpointed Draco’s command easily, the wavelength familiar. Draco had been smart this time, in not entering completely - it was a surface touch, a single finger touching the lip of a wave, rather than someone cannonballing off a dock, all failing limbs once submerged.

Castiel answered in kind, keeping his thoughts as linear as possible, a small trickling stream, rather than the tsunami of thought that wanted to spring up at the question. Castiel knew that he did not have a soul, and he could not even say it was his grace, damaged and torn, and briefly taken as it had been - no, it wasn’t his grace - because even when it had been taken, Castiel had felt this - had felt like Dean had burrowed into his very being like a rabbit into the carcass of a beached blue whale.

There was hell, and there was the battle - there was Dean, desperate, half lost, terrified - and maybe it had started there. Maybe it had happened all at once in that moment, like Hester believed.

But there was Anna, and there was Sam, and Castiel’s path to today would not exist without them. Anna now gone, was first corrupted by Heaven, because they recognized before Castiel did how powerful a leader she could have become. But Dean had recognized it before anyone, and Castiel had been awed. Confused at the time, but always awed.

Sam was never corrupted. His soul steady. It had been Castiel’s fault that he had come back wrong - lacking the most important part of him - how had he not noticed? How had he not noticed that Sam’s light was left in the cage? Even half blinded and wounded from journey, Castiel should have felt the absence. But that was now in the past - and Castiel had made many far graver mistakes since then, and like that one - it had been Dean who saved him. Dean who put Sam back together. Dean who destroyed the leviathan… Dean who tried to warn him away from Metatron, and then provided the distraction so that Metatron could be defeated. Castiel may have have raised Dean from perdition, but it was Dean who had saved _him_.

Heaven had been wrong about the Winchesters - Castiel had been wrong. When he first met them, he had been different. Righteous. So firm in his beliefs - or perhaps only clinging desperately to them. Denying the truth of Heaven’s corruption.  The Winchesters were dirty, inexperienced, and such little things - tainted by demon-blood, hell, and vice - and yet, they refused their destiny, they were incorruptible - trickable, yes - but steadfast in who they were.

Castiel was awed first.

And then, awed most of all, about how they brought him in. Called him Cas, not to demean, but to include. When he was weak, they cared for him. When he was in danger, they worried for him. He remembered Sam denying him a hug one year, and then teaching him to hug some three and a half years later.

He remembered Dean hugging him in Purgatory, and how Castiel wished he could go back with the knowledge of reciprocity and make himself hold on then - hold on so tightly, that he might convince Dean to never leave his side. Enfold him and his brother under his now broken wings, and take whatever blows were meant for them, that they may live on in their loving natures.

Before Castiel met the Winchesters, he mourned for fallen angels and friends. He missed former commanders, had felt betrayal and bewilderment at their abandonment of the garrison. And yet, it was only through meeting Dean, and after him, Sam, and being brought into their world, wrapped not under wings but encircled in weak arms, that Castiel understood love and the lengths one would go to save it. To let it dig into the centre of you, though every millimeter it progressed was excruciating, to let it change everything you thought you knew of yourself. To give yourself completely over and welcome your own destruction - to die multiple times, and each time wake alive, given the option to do so again, and doing so - always doing so - because in the face of love, Castiel could only answer with devotion.

*

_Think of Dean._

_Tell us of him._

How the hell was Sam supposed to do that? How do you even encapsulate a lifetime. How was he supposed to communicate  - communicate DEAN. The steady presence, the absence. Growing up, there was Dean like there was a sky above him, like there was a road to drive on, like there were motels and truck stops and the smell of gun oil. There was Dean as a pillow in the back of the car. Dean helping him get dressed. Dean making him breakfast, lunch, dinner. Dean shaking him gently awake, whispering that it was time to leave. There was Dean smiling, and Dean yelling, and Dean tackling him into a pile in the dirt, twisting his arms up behind his back and declaring himself the winner. There was Dean helping him sneak off to soccer practice, and Dean taking Dad’s side in an argument. And there was Dean using all the hot water, and Dean making him tomato rice soup and singing Hey Jude. There was Dean crying when he thought Sam couldn’t see him. There was Dean crying when he knew Sam could. There was Dean ruffling his hair and calling him a nerd, but saying it with pride - so much pride. There was Dean’s look of complete betrayal when Sam announced he was going to Stanford - and Sam hadn’t understood it, hadn’t understood why Dean hadn’t been proud of him then.

But there was also the absence of Dean. There were days when no one would wake Sam up. There were days when Sam would turn to say something, and no one would be there. There were days when Zeppelin would come on the radio and Sam would roll his eyes, and only after realize there was no one there to turn it up and sing along off key - and so Sam would glance around his empty apartment or the empty car, and then he’d do it himself. He only cried in the car. He only cried when he knew Dean was dead - when he was at Stanford, it was easier - Dean was just out there, still the sky, just hidden behind clouds.

There was Dean in gentle touches of comfort, there was Dean in angry punches of frustration. There was Dean in every single part of Sam’s existence. Sam knew Dean better than anyone - better than he knew himself. He loved him more than words or actions could ever say. He always had. He’d died for him. He’d lived for him. He’d been given Dean and he’d chosen Dean.

If Sam could take the Mark himself, take it away from Dean, fling himself back into the cage with Lucifer, in order to protect Dean, he would.

Sam tried to think hard on Dean, and only Dean, but as he thought - as he became overwhelmed with just Dean. Sam’s thoughts of Dean were interrupted - no, added to - by other thoughts - the other thoughts in the room. He could hear them too. No, not hear, feel - he could feel them, their emotions, just like his own - but not from him, about him. He realized that as they thought of Dean, they thought of Sam too.

It was overwhelming. He saw himself briefly, through Harry’s eyes, through Kevin’s - Jody, Charlie… one on top of each other as though they were all speaking at the same time, yet Sam could hear everyone, could feel the core of the memory of each one, and it was always affection, love, admiration, love, compassion, support. Sam’s breath stuttered and he felt tears fall from his eyes. Beside him, he heard Dean do the same, and he realized what the spell was, the arrangement they sat in - it was a funnel, and Sam was last stop before everything arrived at the final receptacle, and if Sam could feel this much love, with people not even supposed to be thinking directly of him, then he couldn’t imagine what Dean must be feeling.

And part of him wanted to jump up, and protect Dean from it, because surely it must be too much - it was too much for one person to bear. It would kill him - and yet, Sam found himself still sitting, not panicking, just accepting. This had to be the reason for the potion, to get him to sit by and accept this loving destruction - and he would. If he and Dean were going to die, better to die of love.

So Sam accepted it and refocused his thoughts to Dean - to urge Dean to accept it to, so that when they went out, they could go out together, no regrets.

*

Dean regretted the choice nearly immediately, but there had been something - just something - that made him want to try one more time, to fight just a little longer. He sat on the cushion, and tried not to fall into despair, but it was hard - he should have accepted facts, he should stop being a fool.

He didn’t know what was in that potion, but as he sat, and the room started to turn, he felt weird, but it was an oddly familiar kind of weird. He didn’t lower his eye mask like Draco told him to. At least, not right away. He took a look at his friends and family, sitting in front of him, and he thought about what idiots they were - and how much he was going to miss them when they threw him into whatever hole the Wizards planned to throw him in. He could only hope that they’d all be dead already by the time he dug his way out again.

The chamber filled with light and Dean winced and pulled the mask down. He could probably still kill everyone in the room blindfolded, he thought.

Hermione whispered something across the room, then there was a wash of magic that even Dean could feel. Then there was silence, and Dean wasn’t sure what was happening, until he suddenly felt a change - and he realized where he had felt this particular kind of weird before - at the time, it had emanated quickly from a small hex bag held in front of him. Now, it was something that spread from within him, slowly, at the speed of digestion. The potion had been a deaging potion.

He was now at least a year and a half younger. The Mark was gone.

The relief was so great, that Dean thought he might pass out - part of him wanted to rejoice, but a larger part of him knew that no deaging potion would save him. It was a temporary solution at best. As he aged again, the Mark would return, and no deaging potion was permanent, otherwise there’d be no witches over the age of forty. But, even temporarily, to not be filled with murderous rage was a gift - or maybe a torture - because it would come back, it would. Dean knew.

Before he was even finished reeling from the lack of Mark, something else began to filter in - not even a second later - it was almost as though the Mark had been serving as a barrier, because suddenly he was smacked in the face with a waiting horde. His mind was flooded, suddenly, overwhelmingly, with the thoughts of everyone between himself and Draco.

Harry, Kevin, Charlie, Jody, Castiel, Sam - every thought or emotion they had ever had about him, all flowing into him, undeniable and completely honest - and it was too much - too much because it didn’t even make sense, how much there was, how even the negative emotions were laced with exasperated affection. Cas’s thoughts were the most overwhelming, because in them was just a glimpse of Castiel’s foreign mind - beautiful and terrifying in that beauty, and Dean knew that Castiel was holding back an even greater onslaught, he could feel it waiting, the struggle of keeping it waiting, dolling it out in small packages, so that Dean could understand. But even those small packages seemed too much for Dean’s very human mind. Dean wondered if all angel’s had minds like this, but if they did, he couldn’t understand how they could be such dicks - so it must just be his angel. Just Castiel. Struggling to keep his thoughts at the same size and level of everyone else’s, and even then, even if Castiel hadn’t been in the room, just the human thought would be too much for Dean. There was so much emotion pouring into him from his friends.

And Dean loved them too, he did, but he didn’t know if he could survive this.

_Shh, I’m here_

Sam said in his head, like he knew - and maybe he did. Dean suddenly knew, just knew, that Sam felt it all too, so much of their lives intertwined that their friends couldn’t separate love for one from love for the other - and that was fine, it was as it should be, Dean didn’t want it any other way - because you had to love Sam to love Dean, Dean didn’t understand a different life than that.

_I’m here. I’m here._

Sam repeated in his mind, steady and constant, unwavering, and filled with love. He was a warm body in Dean’s arms, a lump in the bed next to him. A sleeping companion on a long car ride. He was a shotgun at his side. He was a knife hilt slipped into his hand in the dark. He was the loosening of bonds from his wrists. He was respite from the storm inside and out.

_I’m not going to leave you._

And then things changed again, because under the torrent of emotions, came a controlled hand, guiding Dean’s thoughts - no, guiding Sam and Castiel’s thoughts too - Dean could feel their emotions shift in response, while everyone else stayed steady.

The memory of a motel room, orange walls, Castiel passed out on the bed. Angels didn’t sleep.

“Team Free Will,” Dean had declared. “One ex-blood junkie, one drop-out with six bucks to his name, and Mr. Comatose over there. Awesome.”

But it wasn’t just the memory, it was Dean’s emotions behind it. He’d said it sarcastically, but he had meant it. They were a team. It was them against the world. For years it had just been just him and Sam, but now they had Cas too - they had him. And if he was as weak as them, that was fine, he’d rather take him as he was, then have anyone else. Dean hadn’t had a chance to tell that to Cas until years later - “I’d rather have you, cursed or not” - but he’d meant it all these years earlier too.

Cas hadn’t known, judging by the surprise in his thoughts of how early it had been when Dean had considered him family.

 _Before this, even before_ , Dean thought, but even he couldn’t pinpoint exactly when, though his mind cycled through every memory he had in an attempt to do so.

His pursuit was halted by another nudge, and this time he fell into the memory of Stull Cemetery, of Sam possessed, of Castiel exploding, Bobby dying, Sam jumping into the pit.

 _No, no,_ Dean tried to argue, because this memory wasn’t kind love, it was devastation. It was the wreckage that love leaves in its wake.

But Dean was left in the memory of the closed ground, the rings resting on top, the absence. Until finally Castiel’s reappearance, and Dean breathed a sigh of relief, that he had someone - that at least one person was left in the world that knew what he had lost.

*

 _Do you accept him?_ Draco asked Castiel, quietly, so quietly, a whisper across the storming sea of Castiel’s mind.

 _Then, now, always,_ Castiel replied.

*

Then Dean was pulled back further, to John’s funeral pyre, Sam’s steady presence beside him, sobbing. He could hear Sam sobbing, and Dean didn’t know whether he was sobbing in the memory or in the wizard chamber. And he hated this memory too, his father’s life for his - to what end? To what horrible fate?

*

 _Do you accept him?_ Draco asked Sam, and Sam was baffled, because of course - of course.

 _Then, now, always,_ Sam replied.

*

The waves of emotion continued, love love love, even more from Sam and Castiel then there had been before - comfort, love, affection.

And then there was another change, a familiar weird feeling starting anew, this time he knew - he knew from the ache in his right arm, that the deaging potion was wearing off.

No, Dean thought. No, please.

The Mark was coming back - it was going to come back, and it had been so wonderful to be rid of it. He was so sorry he ever agreed to it. He felt nothing but remorse for everything he had done with it on his arm, even killing Abaddon. He used to see them as silver-linings, but now he just regretted  it all - so much. This glimmer of freedom without it was a torture. This love pouring into him undeserved. He was so sorry he had ever inflicted this curse on his family, on the world through him.

_We’re here. We’re not leaving you._

The wave of affection and support from his friends and family only increased and Dean screamed as his arm burned - burned like all the fires of hell, like every wound Dean had ever received at once. Dean screamed and threw himself backwards, trying to get away from his own limb.

Then he passed out.


	15. Chapter 15

Dean woke up to Castiel’s upside-down face.

“Hello Dean.”

“Hey Cas,” Dean croaked, as what he thought was a particularly heavy warm blanket over his right side suddenly sprang up and smiled at him, looking an awful lot like his brother instead.

“Dean!”

“Sam,” Dean smiled back, because happy Sam was nice, even if his eyes were all bloodshot like he had been crying.

Then he remembered.

He was lying on the stone floor. The overwhelming sunlight was gone, but the room was flooded with indirect light. It made the stones glitter. And Sam was happy.

Slowly, half in terror, Dean raised his arm. Sam smiled brighter, so much dimple.

He knew without looking, he did, but he still couldn’t believe it. 

His arm was bare.

He sat up. 

“Holy shit,” Dean said, still staring down, then he looked across the room at Draco. “You did it.”

Draco was leaning back against Hermione’s chest with his head lazily resting on her shoulder. He had one arm raised, and was petting her head, while she had both her arms around him, holding him to her.

“We did,” Draco smiled. He turned his head slightly to try to look at Hermione. “We could rule the world, Hermione.”

“Too much work,” Hermione answered.

“Uh, should Ron be worried here?” Dean raised his eyebrows and pointed at the two of them. “‘Cause he’s a pal a’mine, you know.”

Hermione smiled, and caught Draco’s hand, bringing it away from her hair and neatly folding it across his waist. Draco seemed disappointed.

“He’s a little punch-drunk,” Hermione replied. “We had accounted for the magic depletion, but I don’t think either of grasped how being a conduit for that much emotion would affect him… trust me, this will give Ron so much blackmail material.”

Draco pouted, but couldn’t sustain it. He shrugged, and then smiled at the room.

“I love you all so much.”

Everyone laughed, and Sam tackle hugged Dean again. And Dean realized they were ALL punch drunk. Jody had an arm slung around Kevin, and Charlie had made her way across the circle and was leaning against Jody’s other side. Harry was all on his own, but smiling like someone might take it away from him if he stopped, and looking at Draco and Hermione like they hung the moon. It was ridiculous, because everyone looked like they had been crying too.

“Should I get your Healer?” Castiel asked, looking at Draco with a lot of concern. 

Sam pulled out of the hug with Dean to watch the exchange, but he still sat close.

“Aww, leave him for a little bit,” Harry said. “He’s brilliant.”

“You’re mother was brilliant,” Draco retorted. 

Harry snorted a surprised and very much confused laugh. Dean laughed too - Draco usually wasn’t the type to make ‘your mother’ jokes, and Dean was thrilled by the break in character.

“I mean it, Potter - that Bond of Blood spell is a miracle,” Draco said.

Dean didn’t know what that meant, but Harry’s smile dropped and he stared wonderstruck first at Draco and then at Dean.

“The what now?” Dean asked, but Harry had turned back to Draco, and ignored him.

“But that requires someone to sacrifice their life for-”

“Winchesters,” Draco gestured with his hand in the general direction where Dean, Sam, and Cas sat. “Still counts if they come back - the magic just needed a reminder.”

“But they have to then be accepted by remaining family in order to-” Harry attempted to argue again.

“Hey Dean, Sam,” Draco interrupted. “Is Castiel a member of your family?”

“Yeah, of course,” Dean answered, reaching over to pat Castiel on the back, just as Sam said, “Cas is our brother.”

Draco turned to Harry and smiled. “An Angel of the Lord is their brother, Harry.”

Harry just stared at him.

“Harry, harry,” Draco repeated. “We are all God’s children,” then he burst out laughing.

Dean laughed too, because he didn’t really know what was going on, but everyone was happy, so he was happy too.

“But how did you direct it?” Harry asked.

Draco was still laughing. But Hermione answered.

“It was a combination of spells, Harry - Bond of Blood was simply one component,” Hermione explained “Then there was the time-released temporary de-aging potion, courtesy of Teddy, who managed to combine it with another potion that lowered emotional inhibitions. We needed to bring Dean back to a point where he didn’t have the Mark, so that the Bond of Blood could be remembered, accepted, and then resist the Mark’s return as a corruption of the beloved. Then there was a subtle nudge at underlying thought, which we’ve been weaving in for days in our meetings, to have all those participating view the existence of the Mark as a sort of nondescript Darkness that was antithetical to the biblical concept of Light. That was really all we had to go on for what the Mark was keeping at bay. It was to our benefit that Castiel is both a member of Dean’s family and an Angel of the Lord, as the spell needed a Holy component in order to work - Draco needed to draw power from a Holy artifact in order to undo Holy work.”

“Holy?” Dean asked, staring at his bare arm. “It was a curse.”

“It served a purpose,” Draco said, having calmed down from his laughter, though he was still smiling. “Lucifer is now the only person with the Mark. As long as he exists, its purpose is served. It’s a seal - a lock. I don’t know what’s on the other side of that door, but my guess is that we don’t want to open it.”

Dean blinked and nodded his agreement.

“Thank you,” Dean said to Draco and Hermione both, and then he looked at Kevin, Jody, Charlie, and Harry, and repeated. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, kid,” Jody said. Kevin just beamed at him. 

Charlie launched herself across the floor and hugged him.

Over Charlie’s head, Dean caught sight of Draco blinking really slowly, and Harry and Hermione exchanging a nod before Harry got up and went to the door.

Till entered a moment later.

Harry motioned them all to stand up and follow him out of the room. Hermione stayed where she was. Dean was slightly concerned about Draco’s health, so he took his time leaving. Everyone did really, and Harry let them.

Till knelt down in front of Draco.

“My favourite Healer!” Draco greeted him with a smile. Till blushed.

“Hello Mr. Malfoy,” Till said. “How are you feeling?”

“My brain isn’t melting,” Draco declared. 

“This is good.” Till laughed, and hearing Till’s soft voice and laughter was enough to reassure Dean that Draco would be fine. 

“I’d like to stay and make sure Draco is well,” Castiel told Harry softly. Dean supposed that Castiel didn’t have as much experience with Till as he and Sam did, and probably didn’t realize that Till would have Draco covered.

Harry smiled and nodded and Castiel broke away from the rest of them and went to Draco’s side.

Dean let Harry push them out of the room.

*

It was like walking into a new world, Sam thought. He knew that the stone was the same, the corridor was the same, the wizards standing at attention were the same… and yet, it seemed a brighter more peaceful place. Sam loved the corridor, and the old stone, and the moss that grew on it. The grass blades that shot-up through the cracked floor, because you could never suppress life for long. Everything wanted to live - to live and love and be loved.

Teddy smiled at Sam from across the corridor, and Sam let out a whoop and the next thing he knew, he had Teddy hoisted into a hug - the boy’s feet off the ground. Teddy spider-monkeyed onto him, probably out of fear of being dropped, but Sam didn’t care. 

“Thank you,” Sam said, then pushed Teddy back and smiled at his familiar looking face. “You did it. It worked.”

Teddy smiled back at him, his cheeks dimpling.

Beside them, Dean laughed.

“Oh, you little bastard, I see what you did,” Dean exclaimed. 

Teddy made an exaggerated cringe, but it was ruined by his smiling. Sam let him climb down to the ground again and turn to face Dean. 

“I ain’t even mad, kid,” Dean reached over and ruffled Teddy’s hair. “That’s like - subliminal messaging. You don’t look like him and yet...”

“Just enough,” Teddy finished, as his face shifted away from the one that vaguely resembled Sam. Not enough to be mistaken for him, but enough that someone who knew Sam from way back when would see the resemblance. It just needed to remind Dean of him - or well… a version of him that would trigger any instincts Dean might have left.

“Come ‘ere,” Dean said, and pulled Teddy in. Teddy’s hair went turquoise as he and Dean squeezed the life out of each other. 

Sam was pulled into a hug by Jody and he bent into it, and closed his eyes, held her close. His thoughts now only of her.

“Thank you,” Sam said. “I love you so much.” And it was really all he could say, though he wanted to say so much more - about fighting zombies, and how much respect he had for her, that she would fight by his side even as her world came down around her, about late nights drinking Johnny Walker Blue, about her voice on the end of the phone, always answering when he called, always home when he needed her to be.

Jody just held him tighter, and then he felt slim arms wrap around him from behind.

“I love you, Sam,” Charlie said. “And you too, Jody, even though we just met over waffles this morning.”

Sam laughed. He opened his eyes to glance over at Dean to find that Teddy was now sandwiched between Dean and Kevin, while Harry and Hermione hugged the daylights out of each other behind them. Meanwhile, the aurors were all looking at the walls or the ceiling, while some of the wizards in darker robes seemed to be observing them and taking notes. 

Then a voice rang out from down the corridor.

“It worked then?” 

And in from the sunshine walked Ron Weasley, dressed in a knitted sweater and jeans.

“Ron!” Dean greeted with a smile, and broke out of his hug fest and spread his arms wide. “Where have you been?!”

Ron laughed and smiled broadly.

“Today? Picking the kids up at the train station,” Ron answered. “Now someone tell me how brilliant my wife was, because I’ve been kicking myself all morning that I couldn’t be here to see it myself.”

Hermione smiled in return, and ran up to Ron, kissing him in front of everyone.

From behind Dean, Draco, Cas, and Till emerged from the chamber. Draco was still looking dopey, and had an arm slung over Till’s shoulders, but he was smiling and moving under mostly his own power.

“Weasley!” Draco greeted, interrupting what was probably an inappropriate make-out session, though besides some increasingly uncomfortable aurors, no one seemed to care. “I love your wife!”

“Oy!” Ron shouted back. “Get your own!”

“I have my own!” Draco announced with a broad smile. “I meant I love her as a colleague, Weasley. Because she’s brilliant!”

“Well okay then,” Ron said, a little suspicious. “That doesn’t surprise me. I’m glad you’ve come to your senses.”

“I love you too, Weasley,” Draco added. “Even though you’re a git.”

“That _ does _ surprise me,”  Ron muttered, then seemed to catch up with the rest of the sentence. “And  _ you’re _ the git.”

Draco just laughed.

Then there was another round of hugs, with an increasingly bewildered Ron, who was both meeting and getting hugged by some people for the first time. 

“You all are  _ so high _ ,” Teddy laughed. And yes, that really explained a lot.

“It’s not drugs though, it’s love,” Harry argued. “I’m your father! I’m not allowed to be high.”

“Harry,” Teddy replied. “I’m the one who made the potions.”

“Right,” Ron said. “This makes more sense now. Okay, so, who’s sober?”

Teddy, Cas, and Till put up their hands, along with all the wizard guards in the hallway.

“Who’s Harry’s second?” Ron asked.

An Auror stepped away from the wall. Ron rolled his eyes.

“Maria, you didn’t think maybe to step in?” Ron asked.

Maria shrugged. “We hadn’t been dismissed, and it was… good for moral to see them like this.”

Harry’s mouth dropped open.

“Are you making fun of me?” he asked, dismayed.

Maria laughed.

“Alright, well, danger seems to have passed, Aurors dismissed!” Maria announced, then to Ron she added. “Are you okay with getting them all where they need to go? Harry wouldn’t tell me where the Men of Letters were staying.”

“Because he can’t,” Ron replied. “But yeah, I’m good for getting them all back there. Thanks Maria.”

Then there was a little bit of confusion, as they sorted out who had to go where. Draco had to stay behind and debrief with the Department of Mysteries wizards that still stood in a small cluster with notepads. Hermione realized that with Ron there, she didn’t know who was looking after her children. Kevin wanted to go ring a bell or hit a gong for some unknown reason. And Dean discovered that Sam had been staying with Draco and not at Harry’s place, which was now apparently Teddy’s - and Dean couldn’t even remember where it was even though he remembered the house itself really well.

Eventually though, Sam, Dean, Castiel, Harry, Ron and Hermione, all ended up taking one portkey back to London, while Charlie, Jody, Kevin, and Teddy all took another. 

They ended up in a park. Sam, not knowing London, had no idea where they were. The wizards, however, confidently all turned in one direction and started walking - so Sam, Dean and Cas followed, figuring they were leading them wherever they had to be.

Ron caught up with Dean as they walked - and it was… normal. So, weirdly normal. Ron didn’t ask about the Mark, or the spell, or anything like that. He asked about the car, and the Bunker, and what the difference between 1940s appliances and modern appliances were - and why Dean preferred one over the other. And Dean answered all his questions patiently and like he was thrilled to talk about it… and slowly Sam started remembering the Dean who had appeared when they first moved into the bunker. The one who made hamburgers from scratch and actually cooked Sam breakfast rather than just pouring him a bowl of cereal. That Dean had faded away sometime in the past year and a half, and Sam hadn’t really realized, because so much of Dean had been fading away. 

And now so much of Dean was alive, and happy, and walking through London, chatting with wizards about refrigerator repair.

“I also missed him,” Castiel said from beside Sam.

Sam nodded. He knew that already - knew it the same as he knew his own feelings - because he had felt Castiel’s thoughts in the chamber just as much as he had felt his own, Jody’s, Kevin’s… everyone's.

“You know we love you too, right?” Sam asked Cas.

“Yes,” Cas smiled. “I’ve known for a while.”

“You seemed surprised though - when… when you saw the memories from before,” Sam clarified.

“I have known for a while, but perhaps not as long as I should have known,” Castiel admitted. “Human emotion is… hard to parse, at times. You can sometimes form social bonds out of utility or necessity, and convince yourself they are rooted in something more meaningful when they are not.”

Sam mulled that over, watching as Hermione slipped one hand into Ron’s, and one hand into Harry’s, and swung her arms like a kid. Harry bumped her shoulder with his and threw a smile back at Sam and Cas.

“No, we’re like those three,” Sam said, gesturing to the trio that walked beside Dean. “It’s not… stockholm syndrome or whatever you think.”

“Which one of us is Hermione?” Castiel asked, his brow furrowed.

Sam actually thought about it. “I think I might be.”

Hermione tugged on Ron’s hand, and he turned from his conversation with Dean in order to quickly lean over and give her a kiss.

“Which one of us is Ron?” Castiel asked, more alarmed.

Sam burst into laughter.

“Oy, this walk is supposed to sober you lot up,” Ron turned around to complain. “Try to keep it together, would you?”

“What’s so funny?” Dean asked, dropping back from walking with the wizards, in order to loop arm arm around Sam’s shoulder, pulling him into an awkward hunch. 

“Nothing,” Sam answered, still laughing. 

Dean looked over at Castiel and must have caught a smile, because when he turned back to Sam, he chuckled.

“Cas got you, huh?”

“Yeah,” Sam admitted. “I walked right into it.”

Dean laughed again, and then ruffled Sam’s hair. Sam tried to duck away, but Dean quickly grabbed his shoulder again and pulled him back down.

“Hey, Sammy.” Dean’s tone was suddenly serious. “Thanks for saving me.”

Sam couldn’t help the dismissive noise he made. 

“Wasn’t me - was those guys,” Sam nodded towards the wizards, who were giving them some privacy by continuing to walk ahead and chat among themselves, though Sam caught Harry glancing back at them briefly.

“No,” Dean said. “It was you. You… never gave up on me. I could… Sam, I could feel that. I think before I… I didn’t understand, and I’m sorry.”

“Dean-”

“No, listen,” Dean insisted. “You’ve never given up on me, and if I ever…. Listen, I’m a little fucked up… and so are you, but I… a lot of people love me, Sam.”

Sam laughed. “Yeah, Dean. They do.”

“I’m not done.” Dean rolled his eyes. “Sometimes, we’re wrong about things - and if I… if I at any time made you feel like shit, like you weren’t the best person I know - like you had failed me or some stupid crap like that. That’s on me, Sam. Not you. That’s my fuck-up, okay?”

“Okay,” Sam managed around the tightness in this throat.

“Same goes for you, Cas,” Dean said, easing up on Sam’s shoulders a little and letting him straighten up.

“Dean, I have failed you numerous times, up to and including lying directly to your face about working with Crowley and then obtaining god-like powers and killing hundreds of people,” Castiel replied.

Dean was silent for a beat, and then said. “But you apologized, and learnt your lesson, and have been much better since then, and that’s what matters.”

“I let Metatron trick me, even though you tried to warn-”

“Cas,” Dean pinched the bridge of his nose, while Sam tried not to laugh. “You’re ruining the moment.”

“This only proves my point, Dean,” Cas replied.

A smirk played at Dean’s lips, and then a laugh finally escaped him. 

“Jesus, I can’t take you anywhere,” Dean muttered.

“Jesus did tend to get into trouble,” Castiel answered, nodding.

Sam considered it, and then nodded too.

Dean shook his head.

“See if I ever try to tell you I love you again, you bastards,” Dean said, then pushed off Sam and went to go walk with the wizards.

“Hey, what did I do?” Sam called after him.

“You know what you did!” Dean yelled back.

Sam laughed. It was good to have Dean back.

*

It was decided fairly quickly that Draco could do his debriefing with the Department in the morning and he was, thankfully, sent home. He accepted a portkey directly to his house, and all but ran up the walk, knowing that Astoria would already be home with Scorpius.

He threw open the door and called for them. They came running from the kitchen, Scorpius still in his school clothes. 

Draco spread his arms wide. “I did it!”

“I knew you would!” Scorpius exclaimed and then ran into his waiting arms and they hugged each other tightly. “Albus said you would too.”

“Did he?” Draco wondered.

“Uh huh, said he had a good feeling about today,” Scorpius said as he released him and stepped back. “I’m really proud of you, Dad.”

“I’m proud of you too!” Draco smiled. “You’ve finished your first year at Hogwarts, and here I am talking about myself!”

“I wrote you just yesterday,” Scorpius laughed. “And you hardly ever talk about work, because you’re not allowed.”

“This is true,” Draco nodded, seriously, then he raised his eyes and looked over to Astoria - who was standing gorgeous and smiling at them - and all Draco could see was the love in her eyes, and he didn’t know how on earth he had gotten so lucky after being such a miserable child, in all senses of the word.

“Scorpius, would it be terribly rude of me to ask if you might-”

“I’ll be in my room. Just come get me when it’s time to leave,” Scorpius said, with a suspicious look between his parents. “Also, ew,” he added. 

Draco just patted him on the head, before Scorpuis ducked away. Draco greeted Astoria before Scorpius was even out of the room - kissing her deeply.

“Oh,” Astoria said, and laughed. “I see you’ve brought some of your work home with you.”

Draco smiled and pulled her into the sitting room, just because it was closest.

Afterwards, they were lying precariously on the couch, Draco cuddled into Astoria’s side, just the way he liked, only to have Astoria startle and say,

“Oh no! Now we’re going to be late! Thank goodness I made the pie this morning just in case.”

She launched herself off the couch and Draco nearly face planted into the cushion.

“What?” he said, watching in confusion as Astoria cast a quick cleansing charm on herself, and scrambled into her clothes.

“Go put on your good suit, dear! We haven’t much time,” Astoria continued. Draco sat up, continuing to feel confused - this was a hell of a way to come off a good orgasm. Whatever look was on his face made Astoria pause, and come over to him, leaning down so she could take his face in her hands. “Oh my love, I am so proud of you - this is huge, whatever… whatever you did, you’re brilliant - absolutely brilliant. When I got the invitation, I very nearly died of shock - if this goes well… no, no, I shouldn’t speak like that, this will go well. I know it will. Scorpius will be with us, and whatever you’ve done…”

“I cured Dean,” Draco answered, still bewildered.

“You’ve helped them before and this has never happened,” Astoria said, obviously confused.

“There were some lingering effects of the spell,” Draco smiled shyly. 

Astoria laughed. “No, I don’t mean- that was lovely too, dear. But I’m talking about the  _ invitation. _ ”

“What invitation?”

Astoria’s jaw dropped and then she held out her hand and said, “Accio Invitation” and a slim envelope slipped under the closed door and flew into her hand. Astoria hastily opened it and shoved the card into Draco’s hands.

The outside of the card had cartoon balloons and streamers and read “It’s a party!” Draco raised an eyebrow and opened the card.

_ Draco, Astoria, and Scorpius Malfoy _ __   
_ You are cordially invited _ __   
_ to _ __   
_ The Most Noble House of Lupin and Friends _ __   
_ In Celebration of _ __   
_ The return of Dean Winchester _ __   
_ No RSVP, simply arrive at #12 Grimmauld Place half-an-hour after receiving this invitation.  _ __   
_ Yours, _ __   
_ Edward Remus “Teddy” Lupin, Nathan Lewin, and Kevin Tran _ __   
  


Draco blinked. His first thought was ‘I thought his last name was Solo?’ and then the rest of his brain caught up with what he had actually read.

“We’ve been invited to a party at the Potter’s,” Draco stated.

“Well, technically at the House of Lupin, but-”

“But he’s a Potter too - he’s… everyone will be there,” Draco said. “Everyone who hates me.”

Astoria’s smile only faltered for a moment, before it returned growing wider instead, and she shook her head, and knelt down in front of him, taking the invitation from him and casting it aside, so that she could take his hands in hers.

“Not for long,” Astoria said, her face set in determination. “We can do this. What did I say to you on our first date, my love?”

Draco took a deep breath.

“Be who you are, not who you were.”

“They’ll fall in love with you too,” Astoria assured him.

“I wouldn’t go that far.” Draco smiled, but then he gave Astoria a sharp nod, and put as much determination in his voice as she had in hers. “I’m going to need a blue shirt.”


	16. Chapter 16

Dean spent the rest of the walk catching up with Ron. It felt like ages since they’d talked - Dean realized it was because it had been. Ron told him about retiring from the Aurors and running the joke shop with George full time - mostly so that George would have more time off to spend with his little young kids. Ron’s own kids were going to both be at Hogwarts soon, whereas George and Angela’s two were still young. Dean realized how out of touch he’d been in the previous years - he’d honestly forgotten that George was married with kids now. Ron didn’t make him feel bad about it though - he just acted like it was perfectly understandable that Dean hadn’t remembered.

Ron didn’t ask what Dean had been doing, another thing Dean was grateful for - also, Ron didn’t seem to care that while he talked Dean’s ear off about the family, Harry and Hermione were still walking and swinging their linked hands. 

Dean, himself, felt like he was sobering up a little - not that he had been drunk, but just - open. He hadn’t cared about all those strange Auror wizards watching him hug his friends. He hadn’t cared about crying in the chamber. Inhibitions - that’s what it was - whatever was in that potion of Teddy’s had lowered his inhibitions, but not in the dangerous way that left him not in control. Dean wondered if he’d get a chance to ask Teddy about it - apparently that kid wasn’t lying when he said he was good at potions.

When they got to a particular street, Harry handed Dean a piece of paper with an address on it in Kevin’s recognizable handwriting. Dean remembered the address immediately, and looked up in time to see the house fold into existence. It made sense for the wizards to have hid it again, given how bad off Dean was before - and what had happened to Kevin last year - but knowing that Kevin had been afraid of them still hurt. 

Sam clapped him on the back, like he could read Dean’s mind, and squeezed his shoulder. It was enough for Dean to remember that Kevin had just poured his heart out about how much he loved Dean not even an hour before. 

At some point Harry and Hermione had stopped holding hands, and were now discussing the spell theory - or at least Hermione was, while Harry looked confused and nodded occasionally.

“You’ll have to write it out for me, Hermione,” Harry said, interrupting her. “I can’t see it in my head like you can.”

“You’ve DONE it before,” Hermione rolled her eyes. “It’s not dissimilar to-”

“GRIMMAULD PLACE!” Ron announced loudly, Hermione stopped talking and looked at Ron like he was being weird - which he sort of was. Ron ignored her, and looked at Dean, turning his back to the door and leaning against it, then he reached over and opened the door without looking. “Welcome back, Dean!”

The door opened to fanfare - confetti burst out of it and showered them, and cheers came from the narrow hallway, which held every occupant of the house, and quite a few red-headed guests. Above the doorway a banner magically unfurled, reading CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR SANITY!

Dean burst out in a laugh.

“I told you he’d like the banner!” George’s voice came from the back of the group.

“Alright, let him in, let him in,” a demand went out, and Dean was pushed through the door by Harry.

Everyone who had been at the Chamber that morning, except for Draco, was now crammed into the Hallway, behind them stood every Weasley under the sun and their spouses, though people were now spilling back into the living room after seeing Dean’s reaction. 

There were kids too - Harry’s kids, Dean realized, who were all huge in comparison to when Dean had last seen them. They stood beaming, obviously just excited that there was a party. Dean doubted that the kids could really remember him and Sam that well. Ron and Hermione’s two kids hung back a bit. Then there was Bill and Fleur’s daughter, who stood tall and blond beside Teddy - Dean could hardly believe that she’d once just been an eleven year-old that he’d taught for a day at school. George was beaming from the doorway to the living room, holding a little girl in his arms, her curly black hair pulled back into two puff ponytails. She was smiling at everyone and was possibly the cutest kid Dean had ever seen.

Dean followed the crowd into the living room, where there were two more banners over the fireplace that read, ‘WELCOME BACK’ and ‘HAPPY UNCURSING!’ and was followed by a very childish drawing of a sunflower underneath a bright yellow sun. The drawing was spelled so that the sun went in circles around the sunflower, and the sunflower followed it. Dean smiled.

“Roxanne here drew the flower,” George explained, bouncing his daughter in his arms.

“Well, thank you, sweetheart,” Dean told her. “It’s beautiful.”

“Daddy made it move,” Roxanne announced.

“Your daddy’s pretty clever, isn’t he?” Dean said.

George rolled his eyes, but Roxanne nodded sincerely, like Dean had passed some sort of test.

The rest of the living room was decked out for a party. There was a long buffet table against one wall. There was a giant gong in front of the fireplace for some reason. Extra chairs had been brought in from the kitchen for seating - though most people were standing in the middle of the room talking to Harry, Hermione, and Ron. Dean could see a few glances thrown over to him, Sam, or Cas, so he knew they were just waiting to not swarm him all at once. Sam and Cas were talking to Kevin and Nate, who were both smiling. Kevin was shaking his head, and Nate was looking a little too proud of himself, so Dean had a feeling that Nate might be at least partially responsible for the impromptu welcome-back shindig. George waved to someone who could only be Angelina, the mother of the little girl he held. She smiled and came over, shepherding a little boy infront of her and away from the snacks. Once they were in ear shot, George introduced them.

“Dean, this is my wife, Angelina, and this is our son, Fred.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Dean greeted Angelina. 

“It’s great to finally meet you, Dean,” Angelina returned.

Dean then dropped down into a crouch and held out his hand to Fred. He tried not to think about where the kid’s name came from - tried not to think about whether he’d be strong enough to name a kid after Sam, if Sam one day left him. 

“Nice to meet you, buddy,” Dean said. “Did you help set up the party too.”

“Yes! I helped make the cookies!” Fred answered proudly. “They’re shaped like pygmy puffs!”

“Pygmy puffs!” Dean said, as though he were impressed, rather than having no idea what that was. “Well, I’ll have to try one of those for sure then.”

Fred nodded, looking thrilled, and Dean straightened back up again. 

Bill Weasley had approached while he was talking to Fred, and greeted Dean warmly. He was followed by Ginny, who gave him a huge hug, then her mother, Molly,  who tried to steer him over to the snack table, telling him he looked too thin. Molly was thwarted by Arthur, who had heard about the Bunker from Ron, and wanted to know all about it and how it worked. Sam swooped in then and took over the conversation, not so much to save Dean, but because Sam had been doing more research into how much of the Bunker was magic and how much was engineering. Fred then reappeared to direct Dean to sugar cookies that were round, covered in sprinkles, and had little faces drawn on them with chocolate sauce. Dean “ooo-ed and aww-ed” over the tray for a few seconds before selecting one and putting it on the edge of his plate. Fred seemed satisfied that his work had been received correctly, beamed, and ran off again.

Once Dean had a plateful of food, he made his way across the room to where Cas had managed to ensconce himself in a corner, only looking a little awkward. Harry’s kids were all sitting around him, not doing much to mask their curiosity. 

“Can you visit anyone in heaven?” James asked.

“If I know their name,” Castiel answered.

“What if they don’t have a name?” Albus countered.

“Everyone has a name,” Castiel replied.

“What if they die before they’re given one?”

“Then I will need to know their parent’s name, but I can still find them,” Castiel replied. “Hello Dean.”

“Hey Cas,” Dean smiled, then he motioned to Albus to make room beside Cas for Dean to sit. “Scoot over, kiddo.”

Albus leapt up, rather than moving over, even though there was space to do so.

“You don’t hafta leave,” Dean told him. 

“No, I have to get closer to the door,” Albus countered, looking over towards it.

“Are you going somewhere?” Dean asked.

“No,” Albus turned to him confused. “It’s a party! We’re celebrating the fact that your souls aren’t poisoned anymore. Congratulations, by the way.”

“Soul, I just have the one,” Dean corrected him. “But thanks.”

“Right,” Albus said, his brow furrowing. Then he wandered away without another word.

“My brother is such a weirdo,” James muttered, shaking his head.

“I know what that’s like,” Dean told him, before popping a miniature sandwich in his mouth.

“Can you fly?” Lily asked Castiel, getting back to a more interesting topic.

“I used to,” Castiel answered, and Dean winced, trying to chew faster so that he could change the subject. “A few years ago… there was an incident, and my wings were damaged.”

“You’re hurt?” Lily’s eyes went round. Then she leapt off her chair, ran over to the fireplace, hefted a huge mallet and hit the gong with all her strength.

The resounding ring was loud and surprising. Dean had seen it coming, but none of the wizards in the room had. All chatter died away as people threw their hands over their ears, some clutched their chests, others drew their wands and whirled around to face the source of the noise. Lily, uncaring for the rest of the room, ran back over to Castiel with a huge smile on her face. 

“Do you feel better now?” Lily asked.

The wizards all started to mutter and visibly force themselves to relax again. They were also looking confused, including Harry, who was also looking mildly embarrassed and alarmed that his daughter was disturbing the peace for some inexplicable reason - and then looking at the gong like it had appeared from some fifth dimension. 

Dean saw Castiel’s lip twitch up into a smile.

“Yes,” Castiel said, as sincerely as Dean had ever heard him say anything. “Thank you, Lily Luna Potter.”

Lily beamed.

Teddy flew into the room from the kitchen, spotted Lily smiling at Castiel, and scowled.

“LILY! NOT YET!” Teddy shouted.

“SORRY!” Lily rolled her eyes, completely negating her apology.

“Room full of war veterans,” Teddy muttered, “I should put the kettle on.” Then he turned and walked back out of the room.

Dean looked back over at James, who was watching Teddy leave with an eyebrow raised.  James cast another look at Lily, who was settling beside Castiel again as though she hadn’t done anything out of the ordinary, then he met Dean’s gaze.

“Are all my siblings weirdos?” James asked him. 

Dean laughed. “You know what that means, don’t you?”

James shook his head.

“If they’re all weird, and they outnumber you - then technically you’re the weird one and they’re normal.”

“Oh,” James sat back in his chair, his brow furrowed. 

Dean ate another cookie. 

The doorbell chimed, and Dean heard Albus say, “I’ll get it!” followed by a cry of “Scorpius! I didn’t know you were coming!” and then all the chatter in the room stopped, as though someone had hit the gong again. 

“Welcome to my brother’s house,” Albus was saying. “It used to be mine too, before we moved…” then he trailed off as he realized that he was the only one talking. A room full of mostly redheads and some confused Hunters were all looking at the doorway, where Draco and Astoria Malfoy stood behind their son. Astoria had a covered pie dish in her hand and a very strained smile.

“We don’t have to stay,” Draco said softly into the silence. “We’ll just drop off Scorpius and- and the cherry pie Astoria made and-”

Then there was the sound of the kitchen door swinging open again. 

“Wotcher Cousins!” Teddy’s voice rang out before he appeared in the doorway to the living room. “No trouble finding the place, I hope?”

“No,” Draco replied, with a forced smile.

Teddy turned to the room.

“Everyone, I’d like you to meet my cousins, Draco, Astoria, and Scorpius,” Teddy introduced. Dean knew full well that every single person in the room knew who Draco was.  Then Teddy continued with raised eyebrows, “Some of you will recognise Draco from this morning, when he helped save Dean’s life, thus allowing us to throw this party.”

“Cheers for that!” Jody called out, raising a glass of firewhiskey to the air. 

“Here here!” Sam joined in, raising his own glass.

Around the room, the wizards awkwardly joined in with the toast. Dean quickly handed his plate to Cas without looking and walked over to the Malfoys.

“Now, I think I just heard some magic words,” Dean said, smiling at Astoria. She smiled back, but looked confused. “The words ‘cherry’ and ‘pie’?” 

“Sam may have mentioned something about someone having a favourite.” Astoria’s smile grew.

“Well, come get it over on the table,” Dean reached out and gently pulled Astoria into the room.  “And I’m going to take the first slice, because I do believe I’m the guest of honour at this shindig and by rights should have first dibs.”

Astoria laughed. 

Dean heard the kitchen door again, and then Charlie’s voice say “Draco!” he turned to see her pull a startled Draco into a hug. 

“Look at you, you wore a colour!” Charlie tugged at Draco’s blue shirt. “Pretty dashing.”

Dean laughed, which caused Charlie to look over at him - she was seemingly oblivious to the weird looks that she and Draco were getting from the wizards. Then Dean realized that Charlie’s gaze had quickly shifted from him to Astoria, who was uncovering the pie, and cutting Dean a slice.

Charlie walked- no,  _ sauntered _ \- over to them.

“Hello, I’m Charlie,” she introduced herself, her smile turning flirty.

Dean rolled his eyes.

“Astoria, this is Charlie. Charlie, this is Astoria,  _ Draco’s wife _ ,” Dean introduced.

Charlie’s smile faltered for only a split second, before she shrugged.

“I should have put that together,” Charlie said on a sigh. “You get to a certain age, it seems like everyone’s either straight or married - or both.”

Astoria blushed.

“You must be the Charlie that Draco spoke so highly of,” Astoria said, holding out her hand. “It’s an honour to meet you, and I do hope you’ll be able to forgive me for my monogamous ways.”

“Well, you did bring pie and you are married to a pretty swell guy, so I suppose,” Charlie winked.

“Back off, pie is mine!” Dean declared. 

“Now, Dean, we have to set a good example for the children and share,” Astoria replied, then looked around the room. “Oh, where did-”

“Albus and Rose are showing Scorpius Albus’ old room,” Molly chimed in from beside them. “And Teddy is giving Draco a proper tour of the house. Now, tell me, Astoria, did you make this pie from scratch, because it looks absolutely delicious! If Dean might be willing to share with an old woman, I’d love a slice.”

Dean made a show of considering it.

“Well, I would, but I don’t see any old women here, just beautiful young witches… and Charlie.”

Charlie smacked him in the arm. 

“Okay, mercy, you can all have pie, you win,” Dean laughed.

* 

Sam kept an eye on Draco as the party progressed - just to make sure no fights broke out. He saw George nod once at Draco, and Sam took that as a good sign - even if he and Angela made sure to be on the other side of the room, or another room entirely, from wherever the Malfoys were. The Weasleys were a mixed bag, with some following George’s method of avoidance, and others making an effort at small talk.

Once Scorpius returned from the upstairs, he gave Sam a shy smile. Sam smiled back, and Albus, Rose and Scorpius all came over to greet him. 

“Dad’s always told me that we’re friends, but I don’t really remember, besides that I used to draw you a lot - I thought you were a half-giant, but uh-”

“Now you’ve met Hagrid?” Sam laughed. “And you realize that I’m just tall.”

Scorpius laughed and nodded.

“I didn’t expect you to remember, don’t worry,” Sam replied. “You were really little, and we only met briefly.”

“I loved the model car you sent,” Scorpius reported. “Dad and I made it together - then Dad charmed it to drive around on its own. You’re still staying with us, yeah? I’ll show you when we go home.”

“Awesome, you’re on,” Sam exclaimed.

“I gotta see too, man, mini-Baby sounds awesome,” Dean suddenly spoke up from beside Sam, and Sam nearly jumped, having not noticed him sit down.

“Are you staying with us too, Dean?” Scorpius asked. “Dad didn’t say. You’re more than welcome of course! I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s okay, kid,” Dean waved away Scorpius’ rushed words. “We just hadn’t had a chance to discuss it, but I figure I’m staying where Sammy’s staying, and that sounds like your place, as long as it’s alright by your mom and dad.”

“Of course it is,” Scorpius smiled. “Our house is huge, we only live in one bit of it, and the rest just the house-elves use, sometimes they throw parties in the ballroom.”

“Awesome,” Dean replied. 

“Dad!” Scorpius called across the room. Draco turned his head from where he was talking to Jody, and looked vaguely mortified, as all heads in the room swiveled to watch the conversation. “Dean’s gonna stay with us too! Alright?”

Sam smiled as Draco said something quietly to Jody, who laughed, and then he crossed the room to them.

“Son, please do not yell across the room, it’s a little rude,” Draco said softly. “However, I’m happy that you’ve taken it upon yourself to be a good host to our visiting friends and ensure Dean is aware of his welcome.”

“Sorry, Dad.” Scorpius rolled his eyes. 

“Now, why don’t you run along to wherever Albus looks desperate to drag you.”

Sam looked at Albus, who was standing behind Scorpius and tugging on his sleeve a little. Albus blushed.

“Computer shed,” Albus admitted. “I bet they got even more games since I went to school.”

“Be sure you tell the host where you’re going,” Draco informed his son, and perhaps Albus too.

“We will,” Rose piped up. “Teddy has to come get us when it’s time to ring the bells.”

With that the three took off, leaving Sam a little perplexed about what bells they were referring to. Then he saw Draco look over at the gong and furrow his brow. 

“I take it the gong isn’t like - some weird wizard tradition then?” Sam asked.

“No, it’s not,” Draco answered.

*

“Have a seat, man,” Dean offered, grabbing hold of the empty chair beside him and spinning it out so that Draco could face them as he talked. “I gotta- uh…. Just, thank you, I guess.”

“Dean,” Draco took a seat, and turned to Dean earnestly. “I am your friend, also, it was literally my job.”

“Kev tells me you volunteered,” Dean argued.

“My division was more likely to hold the solution, given the history of the curse,” Draco replied.

“Just, take the thanks, man.” Dean sighed. “I… I owe you one, and… I don’t know if it was you who had Teddy look the way he did, but- thanks for that too. I thought… I really thought I was gonna choose differently, you know? But…”

“But that stupid son of a bitch believed in you?” Sam finished.

Dean’s gaze flew to Sam, and Sam smirked. Dean let out a low chuckle. 

“I shoulda known it was you,” Dean said. “I… I couldn’t let you down… I couldn’t even let down someone who vaguely looked like you. Thank you.” Dean said trying to keep his voice light, but feeling catch in his throat. “If you hadn’t…  if I had…” but Dean couldn’t finish the sentence. He couldn’t find the words to explain the terror he now felt at how close he had come to choosing death, how he could have missed out on this cure, this second chance, this wonderful world that contained so many people he loved. But not only that, he realized that Draco had made the second potion in secret - Sam wouldn’t have stood for something like that, Dean knew. Dean couldn’t betray Draco by telling Sam what Teddy had really helped save him from.

“Err, right,” Draco said. “About that…”

*

_ THEN _

When Draco got home, Astoria was alone in the kitchen. She informed him that Sam had retreated to the library after a particularly long rant about the visitation rights of prisoners, it had been at that point that Astoria had called Granger’s office to ask Draco to return. 

When Draco entered the library, Sam was looking over a map of the North Sea.

“Do you have such little faith in me?” Draco asked. 

Sam startled, then, at the very least, looked somewhat guilty.

“Harry won’t let me see him,” Sam muttered. “It’s just in case…” Sam trailed off like he had meant to add exactly the case, but Draco knew that even he didn’t know what that case was.

Draco sighed. He wanted to be angry, but he understood. He’d entertained such notions when his father had been in Azkaban - the difference, of course, was that Sam possibly had the skill set to pull it off; or, at the very least, believed he did.

“Perhaps an alternative?” Draco suggested. Sam’s eyebrows lifted in interest. “I give you a crash course on advanced spellwork, and you help Granger and I with the cure.”

“Hermione’s working on it too?” Sam asked, picking up on what Draco considered the wrong part of the sentence.

“It does wonders for my self-esteem that you suddenly sound far more hopeful,” Draco deadpanned.

“I didn’t mean-”

Draco waved his words away, then reached into his bag and pulled out his notebook.

“We’ve been working on it all day,” Draco replied. “Mind you, she didn’t see fit to tell me until I was leaving that there may be a spanner in the works of my current idea, but no matter - I’ll puzzle over that, while you read the notes and see how much you understand - I know you’ve never done arithmancy, but, hopefully your muggle sciences are enough to allow a passing literacy in the formulas.”.

“What’s the spanner?” Sam asked, instead of looking down at the notes.

“Apparently, the reason you can’t see your brother is because he is belligerent and uncooperative,” Draco explained. “Which is perhaps the normal state of affairs for him - but, unfortunately, the spellwork I’ve developed so far requires not only his full cooperation, but a level of honesty I’m not sure he’d be capable of even if he weren’t cursed.”

Of all things to do, Sam smiled.

“So, I’m going to study advanced spellwork, while you try to figure out how to emotionally manipulate my brother?” Sam summed up. “Don’t you think our skill sets are better used the other way around?” 

Draco closed his eyes briefly and took a deep breath.

“It’s been a long day,” he said.

“Sit down, and tell me what you need Dean to do.” Sam kicked out the chair at the table beside him.

Draco sat and something like hope seemed to settle in his chest.

_ NOW _

“... I lied,” Draco admitted. “The second option was a lie. We would have given you a potion with a different dosage - your choice was real, this doesn’t diminish that, but if you had chosen to die, we would have forced you to try the cure anyway. I’m sorry if you think less of us, but I talked it over with Sam and Cas, and they both agreed - they’d rather be killed than ever give up on saving you.”

“Please, don’t be mad, Dean,” Sam said. “You were under the influence of the Mark - it made you… depressed, hopeless.”

“You could have all died,” Dean argued.

“And yet, we’re here instead,” Sam answered.

“That’s a hell of a gamble,” Dean shook his head.

“Not in my division,” Draco replied. 

“What  _ is _ your division?” Dean asked.

“He’s not allowed to-” Sam started.

“I’ll give you a hint,” Draco replied. “ _ Ea omnia vincit. _ ”

Draco knew they understood by the way their eyes widened. Thankfully, before they could speak, Draco was saved by Teddy reentering the room, ringing a silver bell to get everyone’s attention, and then announcing.

“OKAY EVERYBODY! IT’S GONG TIME! JOIN ME ON THE ROOF”

Teddy then walked over to the gong and apparated away with it.

Potter’s family held strange parties.

 


	17. Chapter 17

Harry had to admit he had never been on the roof of Grimmauld Place. He surveyed it in curiosity as they waited for the others to arrive. Any muggle willing to apparate had been quickly paired with a wizard, but a few followed Kevin and Nate up the many flights of stairs, to enter onto the roof through the attic window. 

At some point, Teddy had set up a small wooden roof-top balcony. The wood was fresh - and the railing unweathered - so Harry assumed it must have been done only very recently. Teddy himself was standing next to the gong, which now sat on a foot-high raised section of the newly built deck.

Finally, the last of the muggles - Jody - was helped through the window by Dean, and Teddy began to speak.

“I suppose you’re wondering why I have a gong,” Teddy said. Everyone nodded. “Although a great deal of our thanks for Dean’s cure goes to Draco, Kevin, Sam, Charlie, Jody, Harry, and… well, myself… we also have a few angels to thank. Thanks to Kevin’s research on the angel tablet, we have discovered the proper way to thank angels - and so, well, we intend to do this properly. Kevin?”

Kevin nodded and took Teddy’s place next to the gong.

“First, I would like to thank Gadreel,” Kevin said. Harry wasn’t the only person in attendance who couldn’t keep the surprise off his face. Both Sam and Dean’s eyes went wide and they seemed to still completely. “I thank Gadreel for answering my prayer and providing me with all the information he had about the Mark - from what Draco tells me, he helped immensely in providing hope that Dean could be cured.” 

Kevin then picked up the mallet and struck the gong. It rang out crisp and clear into the still day. 

“Secondly,” Kevin continued. “I would like to thank Hannah, who allowed Gadreel to meet with me - and, also did not attempt to force me into angelic protection or take me to an isolated desert to study stone tablets.”

Kevin struck the gong again, while a few of the party guests looked at Kevin in slight confusion. Kevin put the mallet back down and stepped off the stage, while Teddy bounded back up again to take his place.

“Who would like to officially thank, Castiel?”

Dean, Sam, and Draco’s hands all shot into the air. Teddy laughed.

“You can all have a turn - let’s start with Sam.”

Sam got up and picked up the mallet. 

“Cas - thanks for… thanks for sticking by me even when I was on the… slightly… wrong path. And thank you for… your friendship. I always… I used to pray and… when I first met angels, uh… well - you know how that was. But you’ve… you’ve been the exception, you know? You’re a good guy… like I said earlier, you’re like a brother to me, and knowing you have my back, it’s… it’s like… like one of those prayers was answered - maybe not the way I thought, but… I think this… reality, is better than what I wanted. So, yeah - just, thank you for helping save Dean, and thank you for being you.”

Sam hit the gong with the mallet - hard, and it rang out even louder than Kevin’s hits. Harry, and a few others, plugged their ears. 

Then Sam tossed the mallet easily to Dean, who was already moving to take Sam’s place.

“Oh geez,” Dean first said, when he turned to see everyone assembled and looking at him. “Uh, first, I just want to thank all of you for your help - and… uh, for coming to this shindig. I feel like this is sort of a dream, because… but no, it’s more like I just woke up from a nightmare, and it’s hard to believe this is real, you know?”

There were nods and murmurs of understanding from many. Harry knew exactly the kind of confused relief Dean must be feeling - when you’ve been fighting for so long, and then suddenly it’s over, and you’re not quite sure what to do with yourself.

“But, uh, the gong is just for angels, I guess - so,” Dean shifted on his feet and ran a nervous hand through his hair. Then he took a deep breath and looked at Cas, who was staring at the proceedings in, what Harry realized, was wonder. 

“Cas, you’re my best friend,” Dean said. “There’s so many things I could thank you for - getting me out of Hell, helping me escape the Beautiful Room back in the day, giving your life for Sam and me - more than once - I’d actually prefer if you didn’t do that anymore, to be honest.” Dean let out an awkward chuckle. “But… I’d like to thank you for what you did today… and uh, everything you… uh, feel. I don’t even think I deserve that, man, and I ain’t gonna take it for granted, I promise you that. Just… thank you, for always being you.”

Dean then wound up - everyone watching quickly put their figures in their ears, except for Castiel - and then the gong rang out even louder than when Sam had hit it. Harry feared for a moment that it would shatter. 

As the sound faded, they heard a muggle down on the street say, “Where the  _ bloody hell _ is it even coming from?!” and everyone laughed. Castiel, however, was looking at the gong in wonder.

Draco took Dean’s place next to the gong, and the laugher faded - though Harry could see Scorpius beaming up at his dad from where he sat with Albus and Rose off to the side.

“As hard as it is to follow such heartfelt speeches,” Draco spoke clearly. “I must, too, give some very specific thanks to Castiel. Thank you, Castiel, for being an ingredient in the spell this morning. Without your presence, Hermione and I would not have been able to cure Dean, and all would have been lost.” There was a small murmur that went through some of the Weasley family, and Harry realized that this was the first that they were hearing that Hermione had worked on the cure directly with Draco. “And on a personal note,” Draco continued.  “Thank you for the care you took to restrain your thoughts, so as to not give me another aneurysm, and thank you also for staying behind to ensure my good health after the spell was completed. It was, indeed, more draining that I had even imagined, and without your help restoring my physical body, in addition to Till and Hermione’s efforts in restoring my magical reserves, I’m sure I would be in one of Potter’s famous three day comas at this moment.” 

Harry laughed, and that seemed to break the tension that had fallen, as everyone else laughed as well.

Draco smiled shyly, and then took a deep breath.

“Thank you, Castiel,” Draco said again, then smiled wickedly before muttering something under his breath. Everyone’s hands immediately flew to their ears, as Draco hit the gong and it rang so loud that Harry was certain it would be heard throughout the entire city.

The first sound that registered when Harry’s ears stopped ringing was Teddy’s laughter, as he got up and smacked Draco in the arm as a reprimand, before yanking the mallet away from him. 

“If we’ve deafened anyone,” Teddy began, then paused. “Well, I’d tell you to go see our resident angel for some healing, but then we’d just have to thank him again, and we’d be stuck in an endless loop! So, instead, I suggest you talk to Till.” Teddy waved over to where Till stood in the corner, and Harry blinked in shock - having not even realized Till was at the party. “Now!” Teddy continued. “You can all return to the buffet table, or those who wish can join me at the edge of the roof to make fun of my bewildered muggle neighbours.”

“Wait!” Harry found himself saying, and jumping up on the small dias next to a startled Teddy. “Just before we disperse - I wanted to thank a few people, er - without a gong - if you’ll bare with me.” 

People stayed where they were, so Harry took that as a sign to press forward. Teddy hoped down from the platform and turned to face Harry as well.

“In addition to the angels, we wouldn’t be here today without the work of Draco, Hermione, and Teddy, who all worked together to find a cure for Dean. I’d like to give special thanks to them.” There was applause. “In addition, I’d like to thank our American Hunter friends and the Men and Women of Letters - who all stepped in to help. Sam, Kevin, Chalie - thank you, and Jody - thank you for coming over with such short notice.”

“Anytime,” Jody said, raising her glass. Sam moved to stand beside her and loop an arm over her shoulder.

“Sam - Dean… I know there was a miscommunication before, about how much the Wizarding World, and myself in particular, are willing to help. I hope you know, that you can call on us anytime you need help. The world is a better place with you both in it.”

The applause was even greater.

“Alright,” Harry finished. “ _ Now _ , you can go make fun of Teddy’s neighbours.”

There was a smattering of laugher - and the party guests began to mingle again. Someone apparated the gong away again, and then a few people went back inside, pointing out the rain clouds that were gathering on the horizon. The rain was still a ways off, however, so Harry watched Teddy and his friends laugh, as they peered over the edge of the roof to see their neighbours curiously looking up and down the street, wondering who was banging gongs.

He was only a little startled when Sam and Dean appeared next to him. 

“I shoulda said something too,” Dean announced. “Thanked everyone, you know - you guys really pulled my ass out of the fire - Sam’s too - and I can never thank you enough for that.”

“You don’t need to,” Harry argued. “We’re your friends - and I meant what I said. We’d have done it regardless - because we love you, but… I’ll also sleep better at night, knowing you’re out there - saving people.”

“It’s hard to think of saving people, when you can’t save yourself,” Sam said.

“That’s the thing - you shouldn’t be expected to,” Harry countered. “That’s why… that’s why you have friends… and… well, aurors, and hunters, and smart sheriffs. I understand, I do - I’m the same way. Always have been. Sometimes, you have a particular upbringing that makes it hard for you to trust… there are a lot of things I would have done differently, if given the chance - and one of those is keeping you a secret as long as I did. You should have been able to call on us for help before things were so dire.”

Dean and Sam both nodded, but Harry knew that understanding the words and actually changing your behaviour were two different things. 

“So, now that you’ve got your life back, what do you think you’ll do next?” Harry asked. “You’re welcome to stay here for a bit, if you’d like - enjoy a vacation. Or you could go to the continent - be tourists.”

Dean laughed. “Well, can’t say it ain’t tempting - to maybe find a beach somewhere for a week or two.”

“But?” Harry guessed.

“I’d also just like to go home, ya know? I… I did a number on the library, when I… when Cas and I got into it, before… yeah, I… just want to go home, clean up.”

“Yeah,” Sam nodded. “I was thinking, it might be nice to take some local hunts for a bit - maybe we could-”

“You don’t gotta ease me back in, Sammy- it’s not like the last time,” Dean argued.

Sam rolled his eyes. “That’s not it. I was thinking about… about what Kevin’s doing for us here, and maybe- maybe he deserves more than just cleaning up after us two, while lying like he’s got a whole organization at his back, you know?”

“What do you mean?” Dean asked.

“I’m just saying, we got Charlie, and Jody… and there’s kids like Krissy and Claire, and a handful of other hunters we can trust,” Sam said. “Maybe we should start running the phones, like Bobby used to. Get a network going.”

“Hm” Dean hummed, considering, then added. “Some people still don’t like you.”

“Yeah, well they can run their own phones then,” Sam countered. Dean laughed. 

“Alright, Sammy, I’m in,” Dean said. Sam nodded. 

Harry had the distinct impression that he’d just witnessed something monumental between the two brothers.

“Now, the only question that remains,” Dean said after a pause. “Is why is Cas staring at us like that?”

Harry looked across the roof to find Castiel studying them with what could only be described as determination.

“Uh, Cas?” Dean asked, without raising his voice at all. “What’s up, buddy?”

And then Cas was suddenly in front of Dean, stumbling a little, as the sound of uneven wings dissipated just as soon as it had been heard. Dean reached up instinctively to steady his friend.

“Holy shit,” Sam said, eyes wide.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas greeted, smiling bigger than Harry had ever seen him smile before. “I can fly a little.”

“I saw,” Dean replied, as dumbstruck as Harry felt. “Just, take it easy though, man, don’t hurt yourself or go falling off of roofs.” Dean reached a hand behind Cas and rubbed at his shoulder blades briefly. “You don’t want to strain anything.”

Castiel nodded. “I am going to tell Kevin,” he announced. 

“Okay,” Dean let him go, and Cas narrowed his eyes across the roof, to where Kevin was chatting with Jody. “Hey,” Dean reprimanded. “Walk. You can show off later, when we’re not six stories up.”

“Fine,” Cas said, looking deeply disappointed, and then he walked away, his trench coat billowing out behind him in the raising wind.

“Well, there will be no getting him into an airplane now,” Sam said, on a laugh.

“I’ll make you a portkey, whenever you want to go,” Harry offered, though he guessed they already knew. “I do hope you’ll stay for a little bit, however - at least long enough to have a proper visit, now that you’re not both cross with me.”

“Yeah, I think we can manage that, thanks,” Dean said, as he clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on, we should get inside while the getting’s good. Looks like it’s about to rain on us.”

Harry nodded, but let Sam and Dean walk ahead of him towards the window, meeting Cas and Jody on their way off the roof as well. The other wizards on the roof were choosing to apparate back inside the house, along with any muggle willing to side-along. 

Harry watched the two brothers bump shoulders affectionately, as they they pretended to jostle for which of the two of them would exit the roof first. Jody rolled her eyes, and exited ahead of them. They then motioned Cas to go ahead of them too, as though the angel had to be protected from a few rain drops.

*

The next morning, when Albus woke up - around noon, because apparently teenagerdom started at 12 these days - he declared that he’d just had the best sleep in at least two years, if not his whole life. Dean, who was over at Harry’s for lunch, replied with “I hear you, kiddo” and no one thought very much of the exchange.

*

Harry stood in a meeting room before the Department of Magical Law Enforcement two days later. It was a good sign. If Harry had been found guilty or some crime, he’d be more likely to be called into Kingsley’s office or a courtroom. 

Instead, Kingsley’s appointed internal investigators met Harry where they had interviewed him days earlier, where they had interviewed all of them. Granted, they could be asking him in for more questions - but Harry doubted it. The news had gone out. The cure had been successful. The Men of Letters had written a formal letter of thanks and appreciation for the renewed friendship between the two societies - all but promising aid whenever the Wizarding World may require it. For some wizards in the UK, who clung to old beliefs, that meant very little, but for younger Wizards in the UK, who were alight with a desire for adventure, for allies, for exploring new possibilities - it was a win. For the American Ministry, it meant much more, as they had to deal with far more preternatural phenomena than Britain did, due mainly to their geographic size, and the fact that they’d always, at least partially, be the wild west… and since it was the Americans who launched the complaint against Harry in the first place, well, Harry was confident, though he made sure not to show it.

Once he had taken his seat at the foot of the long conference table. Kingsley, who sat at the head of the table, called the meeting to order.

“Mr. Potter, the investigators have delivered their report, and I have reviewed it. They have found that, while they believe that you should have informed the Minister, that is, myself, of your mission and movements involving both the Winchesters and the Men of Letters, there was no clear precedent nor set rule of action that you were breaking, since your Department Head was informed of all movements. The mission, however, contained a considerable amount of risk and, that, along with the international component of your strategic goal, was considered to be outside the original scope of the Departmental Top Secret designation - however, due to the fact that it has been… an unprecedented situation, they have found you to have acted in accordance with the law and the rules of your station, and no disciplinary action shall be undertaken.”

“Thank you,” Harry replied, sincerely.

“As usual, when it comes to you,” Kingsley continued. “I find myself offering you congratulations rather than a punishment. The re-establishment of contact with the Men of Letters… and with it an ally relationship with two people who, I am told, are considered the two most formidable hunters in America and possibly the world… once again, your risk has paid off for you, Harry.”

“Thank you, Minister Shacklebolt,” Harry replied.

Tintale cleared his throat, looking annoyed.

“Oh right,” Kingsley replied. “There are a few - suggestions, or… well, protocols, that we expect you to obey in the future, should anything like this happen again.  Mr. Tintale?”

“In matters pertaining to American citizens and America based secret organizations, the Head Auror and the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement shall, in the future, share intelligence and strategic plans with the Head of the American Department of Magical Law Enforcement in Boston. Of course, protocol concerning the other North and Central American Wizarding Countries and Territories will remain at your discretion.”

Harry nodded, saving the legal arguments for Hermione to make. 

“Furthermore,” Tintale continued. “All matters of this magnitude should henceforth be brought to the Minister’s attention. Of course, this is a protocol largely for the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.”

Harry nodded once again. 

“I am sure in the last few weeks you’ve realized how great a risk you undertook,” Tintale finished, his tone conciliatory and on the edge of patronizing. “And I’ve no doubt that you understand the reasons for greater oversight and reporting of such matters - and would play it safer, had you to do it all over again.”

Harry couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him. He then found every eye in the room on him as he shook his head.

“My apologies, Mr. Tintale,” Harry said, sincerely. “But I was actually thinking the very opposite.”

“What?” Tintale asked. As Kingsley closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and shook his head softly.

“I played it much too safe,” Harry explained. “I kept all contact on their terms - not wanting to scare them off. But while I was playing it safe, the Men of Letters - it would seem, judging by recent events - were the ones who were taking extreme risks. In fairness to Ron Weasley, this was one of our major disagreements before he departed from the Auror Department, and he was correct - if I had reached out more, well, perhaps we could have avoided much of the recent turmoil.”

The room was silent, but Kingsley was giving Harry a small smile. So, Harry continued.

“I will follow the new protocol, Mr. Tintale, should such a situation ever arise again.”

It was an easy promise to make. There was only one Men of Letters, there were only one Sam and Dean.   

*

There was an interdepartmental celebration at work, consisting of those who had been involved in the “Special Project Task Force” and Kevin. Harry made sure to give a similar speech to the one he had given at the party - thanking Draco, especially, for his hard work. There were whispers around the room at that, and Harry noticed a few of Aurors approach Draco after with their congratulations. Surprisingly, Harry also heard Draco deflecting all praise, and reminding everyone that without Hermione’s and Teddy Lupin’s help, and the Men of Letters’ extensive research,  his own attempts would have been for nought.

Hermione also deffered the praise, instead speaking of the cooperation found with the Men of Letters, and the future opportunities a partnership may bring forth. Not for the first time, Harry heard a few whispers of Hermione being a great candidate for Minister, once Shacklebolt retired. Harry’s chest swelled with pride for his friend, but he couldn’t imagine working under someone else in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

Harry mulled it over while he talked with the Aurors, who were now, after the success of the spell, far more willing to believe that Harry’s secrecy over the past nearly ten years had indeed been for the best.

“We should have them back in to teach,” Whitehead declared. “For the newer recruits who missed out on the last time. It’d do well to put them at ease, you see.” He added, as though he weren’t the one that had been riled up. “It’s hard to believe that those two… well, they’re legends in their own right, aren’t they? They’re legendary hunters  and you forget that they’re just muggles, sometimes, trying to get by just like the rest of us.”

Harry hummed.

“There was indeed far more hugging than I had pictured, when I was told that I’d be guarding the famous Winchesters,” Maria agreed, giving Harry a wink, when no one was looking.

“Yes, yes,” Whitehead chuckled along with the other group of assembled Aurors. “Same goes for our favourite Head Auror too,” he poked at Harry’s arm, as though Harry should be embarrassed.

Harry played it up though, easily, because he understood now why Maria had let the Aurors witness the after effects of the spell. It was hard to be afraid of someone you’d seen weeping and lovingly hugging their friends.

Harry had always pictured Ron as his second until the end of time, but he was coming to terms with the fact that Ron had his own life to live - and while he’d always be Harry’s best friend and brother in law, Harry knew that Ron’s life shouldn’t revolve around his own.

Maria was young and clever, and would make a fine head Auror one day - when Harry was ready to give up the position. And as he thought of Sam’s quiet enthusiasm about setting up some phones and making the Men of Letters into something again - Harry realized that there were more ways to help than always being in the thick of things. Leave it to Ron to have realized that far before Harry, but he had somehow - the joke shop was thriving, George finally had time to heal and start a family - and it may have been a small way to help, but it was all down to Ron deciding that he couldn’t be a part-time Auror and a part-time joke shop owner. You can only be everything to everyone for so long, before it wears you thin. 

Maria’s plan, of course, would have done little if Harry had received an official reprimand for past behaviour, but Hermione’s statement as the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had gone a long way in convincing Kingsley’s internal investigators that Harry’s actions had been in keeping with a long term, expertly designed plan, to gain the trust and partnership of the Men of Letters organization. Really, Harry thought, you could do a lot from the position of Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement - even if it was a desk job that would put your life in far less danger than it would if you were out in the field, and make it far more likely you’d live to see your godson marry and settle down with his platonic life partner, or whatever the kids were doing these days.

Harry had been Head Auror for a long time now, because it’s what people expected after the war - and it’s what Harry knew the best - fighting, secrets, doing things his own way, because no one else knew the whole story. But yet, there was Kevin, speaking with Chris Gallows in the corner of the room, expertly navigating a conversation that discussed matters of mutual interest without revealing too much about the Winchesters’ or the Men of Letters. Harry wasn’t the only one who knew the whole story, and sometimes, having secrets didn’t mean that you needed to act outside the law.  And maybe, just maybe, Harry didn’t necessarily have to be Head Auror forever. 

*

Dean found Sam up on top of Grimmauld Place, watching the sunset with his feet dangling over the edge of the roof. They’d been over discussing Men of Letters business with Kevin and stayed for dinner. Dean and Kevin had gotten into a conversation about Star Wars and Sam had slipped off at one point without them noticing. He’d been a little quiet all day, and Dean had a feeling he knew why. 

He handed Sam a beer and sat down next to him.

“You good?” 

“Yeah. Just, needed a moment.”

“You want me to go?” 

“Nah, you’re good.” Sam smiled. “Thanks for the beer. It’s just - you know…”

“A lot?” Dean guessed. Sam darted him a quick look, then started picking at his beer label. So Dean focused on the orange clouds in the sky and started the process of getting Sam talk. “Spell was pretty overwhelming to you too, huh?”

Sam let out a small huff of a laugh. 

“Yeah,” Sam replied. “I know... it must not have been anything compared to what you got. I mean, it wasn’t supposed to be about me, but-”

“But they couldn’t separate us,” Dean finished. “I... I could feel that too. But at least the stuff coming in for you was understandable-”

Sam snorted another laugh, this one in disbelief, and he shook his head.

“You got that backwards,” Sam explained, when Dean raised his eyebrows.

“Well, aren’t we a pair,” Dean chuckled.

They sat in silence for a moment longer. Dean wasn’t sure how to phrase what he wanted to ask next. Was Sam still as overwhelmed as he was? It still struck him, at odd times of day, a memory of the feeling of having that much love pouring into him. It made his heart ache in a way that felt… like longing, but for something you already had. It made him feel… precious, as though that was something a man was allowed to feel. It made him want to hang out on roof tops and watch the sunset with his brother, every day, forever. As the silence stretched on, he realized that he had probably left it too long at this point to ask. But, someone had to say something, so Dean tried to start back up the conversation.

“So, setting up the phones-”

“It just,” Sam immediately jumped in. Like he had been waiting for Dean say something, so that he’d be able to say his piece. “All that… The spell… and all the… all of it. It made me want to live?” Sam finished, as though there was some sort of question about whether he should be feeling that way.

Dean bit his lip to keep from smiling too hard, and blinked at the sunset as his mind flashed back to Sam, pale and thin, standing in a church bleeding, and looking at Dean like he was insane for trying to save him. Dean wanted to say ‘Good’, he wanted to say, ‘Thank God for that’, he wanted to say ‘Finally’ - or more vindictively, ‘So are you going to stop giving me shit for saving you?’ But he knew none of those were what Sam needed to hear. And if he were being honest, there was really a far more important response he could give.

“Me too,” Dean said. 

“And Dean, I’m sorry-”

“Hey, no,” Dean cut him off, because as soon as the word left Sam’s mouth, he realized that he didn’t want to hear it. “Me too, Sammy.”

Sam huffed another laugh, shook his head, and took a swig of his beer. They’d be okay, him and Sam.

“Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

*

Jody had returned home shortly after the party at Teddy’s, citing the need to get back to the girls. Charlie took off to backpack around the British Isles - Nate and Teddy both joined her for the first week. Kevin took the train and caught up with them in Scotland, once his duties to the Ministry on behalf of the Men of Letters quieted down a little. Castiel spent his time wandering around, curing babies of minor ailments - Dean informed Harry that it was one of Cas’ favourite things to do and to just leave him to it.

Sam and Dean spent the time catching up with Harry and his kids - though they both still chose to stay at Draco’s, because “our stuff is already there, and it’d be rude to switch.” But it was under a week, when they declared that they were itching to get home and put their lives their back together again.

Harry understood. 

This time, unlike the last times, Harry took them to the official international portkey office at the Ministry - Harry still had to make the portkey himself, as the location of the Men of Letters bunker was restricted information - but, all the same, leaving from the key-port was just another way their relationship had been made official. Castiel was leaving with them, apparently having just been waiting for the word that it was time to go back to the US. He didn’t seem to enthused about the portkey, but Dean insisted that flying the length of a roof was hardly the same as flying over an ocean, and it was either the portkey of the plane - and Cas agreed with Dean that the portkey was preferable.

“Hey, don’t be a stranger,” Dean told him. As though it were Harry who had failed to get in touch the last time. 

“Likewise,” Harry countered, with a raised eyebrow to Sam.

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam replied. “We’ll be in touch - but we just mean, you know - you can just come for a visit too. It doesn’t have to be for a reason.”

“Likewise,” Harry repeated, with a laugh. “But it can be for a reason too - and by that, I mean for you to try not to get into too much trouble.”

“Trouble? Us?” Sam said, eyes wide and innocent.

“Alright, get out of here,” Harry laughed. “You’re making me sympathize with my school teachers, and that simply will not stand.”

Dean and Sam both laughed.

“Bye Harry,” Dean said, and Sam echoed with his own. “See ya ‘round.”

“Farewell,” Cas added in.

“Bye for now,” Harry said, then nodded to the piece of quartz that sat on the table. “You know what to do.”

The two hunters and their angel all put a hand on the stone.

“ _ Portus _ ,” Dean said, and then they were gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short Epilogue to come in about two days... :)


	18. Chapter 18

***TWO YEARS LATER…***

Harry sat down in the empty conference room and looked at his reflection in the mirror that spanned one wall. When the clock ticked onto the top of the hour, Harry spoke clearly into the empty room.

“Men of Letters Bunker, Kansas.”

The mirror went foggy, and then cleared to reveal Dean Winchester, sitting across the illuminated map table, his feet up, and a beer in his hands. The Winchesters now had an enchanted mirror on what had once been a rolling chalkboard. Harry had done the enchantment himself, on official request, just a year earlier.

Dean hadn’t noticed Harry yet, it seemed, he was glancing between the door and his phone - no doubt checking the time.

“Hi Dean,” Harry greeted.

“Hello Mr. Head of Magical Law Enforcement,” Dean replied with a smile, turning to him. That was also new. Hermione had become Minister of Magic, and Harry, to the shock of everyone he knew except for himself, had applied to take over her position and leave the Auror Department to Maria - well, perhaps not all of it - Harry was still the one who got to make these calls, after all.

“Where’s Sam?” Harry asked.

“Sam is late,” Dean replied. “He should be here any minute. He hit some traffic coming back from class.”

“Class?” 

Dean smiled.

“Oh, so, wait’ll I tell you-”

There was the sound of a heavy door, and then thumping footsteps down metal steps, and then Sam came into view. He threw a messenger bag to the floor and slid into the seat next to Dean. 

“Hi Sam,” Harry greeted. “What class are you taking?”

“Uh,” Sam said. “Uh… taking some…” Harry watched Dean smile as Sam ran a hand through his hair and take longer than necessary to open his beer as he answered. “...some American Sign Language classes. You know, just for fun.”

“It’s a four hour drive,” Dean told Harry, with his eyebrows raised.

“Not my fault we live in the middle of nowhere,” Sam replied. “Anyway, Harry, we looked over the research from the Aurors. Dean, do you have the-” 

Dean motioned to the files he’d piled to the side of the table. While Sam turned to pick them up, Dean quickly mouthed to Harry, ‘There’s a girl!’ Harry smiled widely.

“... yeah, so…” Sam continued, turning back and opening the file. “It looks like you’re dealing with a Djinn, but what we can’t figure out is why the attacks are as spread out as they are. It’s definitely a Djinn though, it’s the classic MO. Now, they usually like to hang out in ruins, so-”

“Oh, so that’ll be easy, it’s only bloody Britain,” Harry replied. Dean chuckled.

“Yeah, but most of those ruins are tourist traps, not the same thing. Too populated still,” Dean answered. “It’s more likely to be empty warehouses, that sort of thing.”

“Which doesn’t necessarily make it easier, we realize,” Sam concluded.

“No, but at least we know for sure what we’re dealing with,” Harry conceded. “I’m gonna push Auror action on this one - we weren’t sure if it was magical in nature originally, due to some attacks being in proximity to magical villages, but, still - it’s too concerning to just leave it to the muggle hunters.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Dean raised an eyebrow.

“I didn’t mean it like that and you know it,” Harry replied.

“I was actually thinking,” Sam said, oddly timid. “Uh, I might know a hunter who has contacts in the UK - might just be Ireland, but I could ask-”

“Sam, you dog,” Dean grinned.

“Shut-up. It’s a professional-”

“That’d be great, Sam,” Harry replied. He knew all too well from his own boys how much brotherly teasing could derail a conversation. 

“Cool,” Sam replied. “I’ll call her right after this!”

Dean laughed. Sam kicked him under the table, not very subtly, which caused Harry to laugh as well.

“We also sent the data to Charlie,” Sam continued. “She’s had experience with Djinn too, and we’re hoping that she might be able to pick out a pattern that we can’t see. We’ll let you know when she gets back to us.”

“That’s great, thanks,” Harry said. “Kevin’s been a huge help on this end as well. He’s been looking at some of the odd writing we found on some of the victims, seeing if he can decipher it.”

“We’ll send you what we know,” Dean said. “You call right away if things go south, okay? We’re not too busy here that we can’t come help out a friend.”

“Are you sure? That map behind you looks pretty busy,” Harry replied. Behind the Winchesters was a large map with various coloured pins stuck in it - and little strings that went to what Harry could only assume were name cards of what hunters were where.

“Yeah, but they’re good Hunters, and we’ve got a protocol anyway for covering the phones,” Dean answered. “We use it when Sammy and I are busy on our own hunts.”

“Cas does it sometimes too, unless we need him,” Sam said. “It’s pretty hilarious.”

“Where is Cas? Last time I called he was with you,” Harry asked. 

“Oh, you know, out traveling the world, following bees and healing babies,” Dean replied. “He comes in every once in awhile, drops off some honey, tells us about a hunt, and hangs out for a bit while he recharges his batteries.”

“Sounds like a good life.” Harry smiled.

“Yeah, it’s not too bad,” Dean smiled softly. “So, how are the kids? Did Lily try out for the Quidditch team?” 

“Seeker position wasn’t open this year,” Harry said. “I told her she should try out for Chaser, like her mum - but I think she’s too worried about the legacy there.”

Sam laughed. “But she’s not worried about yours?”

“Ha! You’d think,” Harry said. “But public memory is a funny thing.”

They chatted a bit more about Harry’s kids, then Harry sent over what they affectionately referred to as the Book Bag, so that Sam could send copies of their notes, and a few books they had pulled that might be of help.

All too soon, it was time to sign off, because Harry really did have to update Maria. Lives  _ did _ hang in the balance after all; Harry couldn’t spend all day chatting with his friends. 

“You two really should return to Britain for a visit,” Harry insisted. “Check up on Kevin, you know, we’ll call it business.”

“He still trying to recruit wizards, because I don’t know about that-” Dean narrowed his eyes.

“I’m horribly offended, Dean,” Harry joked.

“As you should be,” Dean replied. “Well, we should probably wait until Sammy’s done with his classes, then maybe we can work something out. But the invitation goes both ways, keep in mind - you and Ginny and the kiddos ever want to spend time in rural Kansas for some reason- huh, maybe that’s why you never come visit. We also have a cabin in the middle of nowhere Montana, if it’s the flatness that gets to ya.”

Harry laughed.

“Maybe we should all meet in the middle - I hear Bermuda is nice,” Harry suggested.

“Hmm, middle of nowhere Atlantic ocean - I see how it is,” Dean chuckled. “Still, sun, sand, beaches - can’t complain about those.”

“But Harry, really,” Sam interrupted, “If you need us for this hunt, don’t hesitate to call.”

“I won’t, I promise,” Harry replied. “Now, I really have to be going - you two look out for each other, yeah?”

“Always,” Sam and Dean both chorused. Then Sam added, “Say hi to everyone for us.”

“I will,” Harry promised.

With a wave of his wand, the call ended, and the Winchester’s and the world of the Men of Letters faded from view.

Harry smiled and was once again immensely thankful that he and the Winchesters had stumbled into each other’s lives. It was a unique privilege to know them, and an even rarer privilege to count them as friends. He was grateful that they were well and proud if he played even a small part in ensuring they stayed that way.

The world really was a better place with the Winchesters in it.

 

_ Fin. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End!
> 
> Couldn't resist sliding in some Saileen. I love them so. :)
> 
> This is the end of the long-form stories in the demented'verse, as far as I can predict. I may still do some short timestamps - time and ideas permitting.
> 
> Thank you to my beta reader for this story, Bex, who was amazingly understanding when I sent her the most unfinished-thing that I've ever sent a beta reader.
> 
> Also, thank you to everyone who has read along (for all the 'verse or just this story), I really appreciate your encouragement and kind words!


End file.
